;GkLandtlieDea' 

By  Karl  Edwin  Harriman 


UC-NRLF 


The  Girl  and   The  Deal 


THE  GIRL  EXAMINED  THE  CURIOUS  CARVING 


The  Girl  and  the  Deal 

By 

Karl  Edwin  Hartiman 

Author  of  Ann  Arbor  Tales,  etc. 

With  Illustration!  by 

W.  H.  D.  KOERNER 

© 

Philadelphia 

George  W.  Jacobs 
£?  Co. 

Publishers 

COPYRIGHT,   1904, 
BY  KARL  EDWIN  HARRIMAN 

COPYRIGHT,    I9O5, 
BY  GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  CO. 

Published   June,    1905. 


0 


To 

THE  GIRL 


M668767 


CONTENTS 


PAGE. 

I.  A  YOUNG  MAN'S  PEACE  OF  MIND 13 

II.  THE  DETERMINATION  OF  YOUTH 37 

III.  A  PAIR  OF  EYES  ACROSS  THE  AISLE 49 

IV.  EXPLANATION  AND  REJOICING 61 

V.  AN  EDUCATION  IN  LITTLE 77 

VI.  THE  FOLLY  OF  SELF-COMMUNION  91 

VII.  WEST  AND  EAST 101 

VIII.  THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHICAGO 117 

IX.  A  CONSCIENCE  STRAINED 133 

X.  THE  EDUCATION  PROCEEDS 147 

XI.  A  PURCHASE  IN  THE  OPEN 163 

XII.  ACCESSORY  AFTER  THE  FACT 193 

XIII.  THE  MAGIC  OF  A  SUNSET 205 

XIV.  DOWN  !    225 

XV.  THE  SOUL  OF  THE  CANYON 241 

XVI.  CAPITULATION  263 

XVII.  ONE  SORT  OF  GIRL 271 

XVIII.  GRADUATION  285 

XIX.  THE  DEAL 303 

XX.  A  GIRL'S  HAND 313 

XXI.  AN  OFFER  is  ACCEPTED 333 

XXII.  THE  STAR  THAT  DID  NOT  FALL 345 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


The  girl  examined  the  curious  carving Frontispiece 

Over  the  second  telegram  he  pondered  longer.  .Facing  page  22* 

"I  am  one  of  those  poor,  homeless  creatures 
called  orphans"   "        "      66 

"That's  Detroit  over  there"  "        "      78 

A  part  of  the  promised  education "        "    126 

He  came  upon  her  at  the  Pullman  office "        "    134 


He  was  filled  with  a  great  longing  to  tell  her 
then "        "    172 

"I've  tried  to  talk  about  it  half  a  dozen  times".      "        "    250 

She  gazed  at  the  ties  as  they  raced  on  to  the 
east    .  "        "    286 


"What  is  your  proposition,  Mr.  Mason?" (  318 

"You  are  heels  over  head  in  love  with  Aunt 

Jane"  "        "  338 

"Do  you  see  that  star,  dear  heart?" "        "  348 


A  Young  Man's   Peace   of  Mind 


The  Girl  and  the  Deal 

I.  A  YOUNG  MAN'S  PEACE  OF  MIND 

KUSKY-THROATED  newsboys  cried 
the  mid-morning  editions  through 
the  Common.  An  occasional  bootblack 
persuaded  an  occasional  Bostonian  that  he 
needed  a  shine,  and  fell  upon  his  knees 
forthwith  before  a  bench  that  once  was 
green,  but  from  which  the  east  wind  had 
eaten  all  but  a  crackling  speck  of  paint  here 
and  there.  In  Washington  Street  some 
thing  of  the  day's  activity  was  already  be 
ginning  to  appear.  Life — Boston  daily  life 
— was  springing  up  in  Boston's  thorough 
fares.  There  were  many  women  moving 
this  way  and  that  with  little  net  shopping 

13 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^      *• 

bags  hanging  from  their  crooked  arms.  The 
sun  burned  in  a  turquoise  sky,  dappled  with 
cotton  clouds  that  might  gather  before  even 
ing  and  let  fall  their  store  of  moisture  in 
needed  rain. 

If  Harold  Mason  was  conscious  of  the 
shifting  life  about  him,  he  gave  no  sign. 
Quite  unconsciously  indeed,  or,  perhaps, 
automatically,  he  sprang  in  front  of  a  pair  of 
grays  drawing  a  gleaming  brougham  up 
Washington  Street,  but  did  not  observe  the 
hand  that  waved  to  him  from  the  shadow  of 
the  vehicle.  The  ferrule  of  his  stick  clicked 
on  the  pavement  rhythmically.  At  trie  Old 
Corner  Book  Store  he  loitered  a  moment, 
but  though  he  stared  at  the  display  of  a  new 
and  already  popular  novel  in  the  low  win 
dow,  he  did  not  see  the  piles  of  volumes,  nor 
read  the  sign  informing  an  interested  Bos- 

M- 


A  YOUNG  MAN'S  PEACE    *    * 

ton  that  the  books  were  on  sale  at  $.1. 
"publisher's  price  $1.50."  Each  morning 
for  three  years  he  had  loitered  a  moment  be 
fore  the  window  on  his  way  to  his  father's 
office  in  Tremont  Street,  but  on  this  par 
ticular  morning  it  was  habit  merely  that  in 
duced  his  hesitation  at  the  corner;  for,  look 
in  at  the  window  though  he  might,  here, 
there,  everywhere,  he  saw  only  her  face,  her 
face  as  he  had  seen  it  turned  archly  up  at 
him  when  he  stood  before  her  in  Mrs.  Wor- 
rington's  "palm  room,"  as  Mrs.  Worrington 
chose  to  call  the  end  of  her  conservatory  that 
led  from  the  library  in  her  Brookline  home. 
The  young  man's  stick  resumed  its  click 
against  the  uneven  pavement  as  he  walked 
on.  Tremont  Street  was  not  yet  crowded 
and  he  was  glad  for  that.  He  was  very 
silly ;  his  mind  told  him  as  much  frankly, but 

15 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     ^ 

somewhere  another  still  little  voice — he 
wondered  if  it  could  be  his  heart — laughed. 
Yet  there  was  her  face — Sibyl  Anstruther's 
face — smiling  at  him  from  every  gleaming 
window  that  he  passed. 

"Gad!"  he  exclaimed  inwardly,  "why 
shouldn't  a  fellow  think  of  her — how  could 
a  fellow  help  thinking  of  her  once  he  had 
seen  her,  or  better,  heard  her  voice,  or  bet 
ter  still,  gazed  into  her  eyes,  or  even  better, 
danced  with  her?" 

He  struck  impatiently  at  a  dangling  awn 
ing  rope  with  his  stick.  Then  with  a  mental 
start  that  nearly  brought  him  up  standing, 
he  thought  of  Fred  Townsend.  To  be  sure, 
he  didn't  know  Townsend  very  well,  but  he 
had  eyes.  And  when  a  girl  is  willing  to  sit 
out  four  dances  with  a  man  in  the  shade  of 
a  mass  of  canna  on  a  darkened  lawn,  it  is 
16 


A  YOUNG  MAN'S  PEACE    *    *•    * 

reasonable  to  suppose  that  the  girl  has  some 
interest  in  the  man.  Sibyl  Anstruther  had 
done  this.  And  Mason  recalled  with  a  nasty 
smile  the  satanic  joy  that  had  been  his, 
when,  in  answer  to  Mrs.  Worrington's  anx 
ious  inquiry,  he  had  replied,  "Oh,  yes,  I 
have  seen  her;  she  is  outside — on  the  lawn." 
And  he  watched  his  hostess's  fleeting  white 
figure  as  it  sped  down  the  walk  and  plunged 
into  the  darkness.  Presently  she  reappeared 
with  Sibyl,  and  Mason  chuckled  in  his  col 
lar.  Jealous?  Jealous  of  a  girl  whom  he 
had  seen  but  twice?  Absurd!  Vicious;  that 
was  it,  simply  vicious.  Sibyl  had  interested 
him ;  she  had,  more  or  less,  saved  him  from 
the  insufferable  boredom  of  a  summer  in 
town — a  boredom  that  but  for  her  would 
have  been  all  the  greater  for  the  reason  that 
the  last  three  summers — ever  since  his  grad- 

17 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     •* 

uation  from  Harvard — he  had  idled  the 
month  happily  at  Cape  May  or  Martha's 
Vineyard.  But  he  would  show  Townsend 
before  autumn;  he'd  show  him  a  lot  of 
things.  A  man  and  a  maid  may  accomplish 
much  in  two  midsummer  months,  and  Sibyl 
had  told  him  at  their  first  meeting  that  she 
meant  to  stop  on  in  Boston  with  Daisy  Wor- 
rington,  her  one-time  school-mate,  until 
October.  Besides  there  was  the  dance  next 
Thursday.  He  should  see  her  again  then, 
and  perhaps  — 

He  turned  into  the  cool,  white-marble 
corridor  of  the  Colonial  building,  on  the 
sixth  floor  of  which  was  his  father's  private 
office.  He  failed  to  return  the  elevator 
boy's  morning  greeting  as  was  his  custom, 
and,  still  mechanically,  stepped  from  the 
car  at  his  floor  and  passed  down  the  corri- 

18 


A  YOUNG  MAN'S  PEACE    *    •*    * 

dor.  From  the  ground  glass  of  a  door  at  the 
end  stared  at  him  bluntly,  in  black  letters, 
his  father's  name — John  Mason — and  such 
was  the  son's  distress  of  mind,  that  as  he 
turned  the  knob  he  muttered,  quite  aloud, 
"Confound  trolley  cars  and  bonds  and  all 
such — in  summer  — ." 

The  office-boy,  a  freckle-faced  little 
Irishman  of  the  official  Boston  brand,  came 
toward  him  from  his  flat  desk  in  one  corner 
of  the  room. 

"Your  father  has  asked  for  you  three 
times,  sir,"  he  said.  Mason  glowered  down 
at  him. 

"Oh,  he  has,  has  he?"  he  growled. 

There  were  two  twinkles  in  the  two  beady 
eyes  of  Michael,  but  his  face  was  sober  as 
he  nodded. 

"Any  wires,  Michael?" 

19 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^ 

"Two,  sir." 

"San  Francisco?" 

"I  think  so,  sir." 

"Ah." 

He  passed  on  into  his  own  office,  the  sin 
gle  window  of  which  permitted  a  drab  view 
of  a  multitude  of  low  roofs.  Away  over 
there,  somewhere,  lay  the  ocean,  Mason  was 
wont  to  tell  himself  on  a  hot  afternoon.  He 
noisily  flung  up  the  roll  top  of  his  desk. 
Glancing  over  his  mail  hastily,  he  did  not 
wait  to  open  it,  but  crossed  the  waiting  room 
to  the  door  opposite  the  entrance,  and  en 
tered  the  presence  of  his  father. 

"The  boy  said  you  have  wanted  me,"  he 
remarked. 

His  father  was  gazing  out  the  window 
into  Tremont  Street  as  Harold  noiselessly 
entered  the  room,  but  at  the  sound  of  his 

20 


A  YOUNG  MAN'S  PEACE    *    *    * 

voice  he  wheeled  quickly  in  his  pivot  desk 
chair  with  a  slight  nervous  start. 

"Good  heavens,  my  foot  I"  he  exclaimed, 
and,  stooping,  caressed  the  gouty  member. 

"I'm  sorry,  father;  I  should  have  been 
more  thoughtful." 

"Never  mind,  never  mind;  sit  down." 
Mason  indicated  a  deep  mahogany  chair  at 
the  end  of  his  broad,  flat  desk. 

John  Mason  was  in  the  way  of  becoming 
a  "captain  of  industry;"  but  just  at  this  mo 
ment,  if  what  he  had  confided  to  his  son  was 
to  be  believed,  his  ship  had  broken  her  steer 
ing  gear  and  was  fast  drifting  toward  those 
rocks  of  finance  upon  which  so  many  once 
sturdy  craft  have  foundered.  This  office  in 
Tremont  Street  was  his  private  cabin,  as  it 
were;  in  State  Street,  at  the  very  heart  of 
"business  Boston,"  were  the  cabins  of  the 

21 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

crew,  and  in  Wall  Street,  where  his  squat, 
fat  figure  was  more  or  less  familiar,  was 
another  cabin,  whither  he  sped — if  his  gout 
would  let  him — as  often  as  occasion  needed. 
To  change  the  metaphor,  this  Tremont 
Street  office  was  the  lion's  den,  and  here  was 
the  lion  himself  at  this  particular  moment, 
glowering  at  his  motherless  cub  out  of  a 
pair  of  singularly  penetrating,  not  to  say 
hypnotic,  blue  eyes.  Harold  Mason's  own 
eyes,  as  blue  at  least  as  his  father's,  if  lack 
ing  in  the  other  qualities,  met  them  squarely, 
nor  did  they  waver. 

From  the  litter  on  his  desk,  Mason,  sen 
ior,  unearthed  one  of  the  dispatches  to 
which  Michael  had  referred. 

"Read  that,"  he  said,  thrusting  the  yellow 
sheet  at  his  son.  Young  Mason's  eyes  loit 
ered  an  instant  over  the  three  typewritten 
22 


OVER  THE  SECOND  TELEGRAM  HE  PONDERED  LONGER 


A  YOUNG  MAN'S  PEACE  '  *    *    * 

lines,  then  lifted  again  to  meet  his  father's 
steady  gaze. 

"You  know  what  that  means?" 

The  young  man  nodded. 

"Then  read  that." 

Over  the  second  telegram  he  pondered 
longer,  though  it  contained  but  a  single  line. 
Then  he  looked  out  the  wide  window,  while 
he  unconsciously  rolled  the  yellow  sheet  in 
his  fingers. 

He  was  brought  back  to  himself  by  his 
father's  inquiry,  keen  as  a  knife  and  bitterly 
sneering. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

"There's  only  one  thing  to  think  and  that 
is,  MacDonald  has  made  a  rotten  failure  of 
it." 

Mason  got  upon  his  feet,  but  not  without 
an  electric  twinge  of  pain  that  set  his  face  at 

23 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

angles.  "Rotten  1  It's  unpardonable!"  he 
cried.  "What's  a  man  to  do — back  here — 
four  thousand  miles  away,  if  the  people  he 
pays  big  money  can't  deliver  the  goods — 
Eh?"  He  waited  as  though  expecting  some 
reply  from  the  young  man  in  the  chair  at  the 
end  of  the  desk,  but  as  none  was  forthcom 
ing  he  ran  on,  tempestuously. 

"Good  heavens,  haven't  they  any  sense; 
haven't  any  of  you  young  cubs  any  sense — 
has  the  old  man  got  to  do  everything — Say, 
has  he?"  His  eyes  and  the  boy's  met  an  in 
stant,  clinched  and  broke. 

"In  my  days  when  a  young  man  saw  his 
chance  he  grabbed  it  and  hung  on.  I  guess 
the  fellow  that  said  the  third  generation 
goes  back  to  working  in  its  shirt-sleeves  was 
right  after  all!"  And  he  launched  upon  a 
tirade  against  the  far-distant  MacDonald. 
24 


A  YOUNG  MAN'S  PEACE    *•    *    ** 

"The  fool — a  failure ;  a  complete,  a  mis 
erable  failure ;  and  at  just  the  moment  when 
to  have  'turned  the  trick,'  as  you  say,  would 
have  saved  everything." 

"Don't  you  think  MacDonald  did  his 
best?" 

Mason,  senior,  stopped  in  his  unsteady 
pacing  of  the  thickly  carpeted  floor  and  fix 
ing  his  eye  glasses  W7ith  deliberation  stared 
down  at  his  son. 

"His  best!"  he  exclaimed.  "His  best  and 
fail!  Young  man,  let  me  tell  you  one  thing 
— a  man  can't  do  his  best  and  fail.  It  might 
be  well  for  you  to  write  that  out  and  hang  it 
up  over  your  desk.  He  cant!" 

Harold  Mason  knew  better  than  to  force 
an  argument  under  the  circumstances.  His 
father's  present  mood  was  not  unfamiliar 
and  always  he  had  sought  to  escape  from  the 

25 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     **• 

effects  of  it.  Silence,  experience  had  taught 
him,  was  the  attitude  for  him  to  maintain 
until  the  storm  had  passed.  The  older  man 
sank  into  his  chair,  and  wiped  his  face. 

"Now  this  is  the  point,  right  here,"  he  be 
gan  with  a  calmness  that  was  in  startling 
contrast  to  his  excitement  of  the  previous 
moment.  "If  Tompkins  can't  be  interested, 
we're  gone." 

The  pale  shadow  of  a  smile  flickered  for 
an  instant  about  young  Mason's  eyes. 

"We  need  him,  that  is  to  say,  we  need — ." 

"His  money,"  Harold  supplied  and 
smiled  quite  frankly. 

"Yes,  put  it  that  way  if  you  want,  but  I 
shouldn't  do  it  in  public — And  what's  more, 
we've  got  to  have  him." 

"But  MacDonald's  telegram  saying  he 
can't  be  interested?" 

26 


A  YOUNG  MAN'S  PEACE    *    ^    ^ 

"Faugh — Doesn't  he  suggest  in  the  sec 
ond  wire  that  I  should  go  on  to  'Frisco  my 
self  and  have  a  try?" 

His  son  nodded. 

"Doesn't  that  in  itself  show  there's  still  a 
chance — doesn't  it  show  that  even  MacDon- 
ald,  conscious  as  he  is  of  his  own  failure, 
still  thinks  a  better  man  might  'turn  the 
trick?'  I  don't  like  the  slang,  but  it  seems  to 
fit  the  case." 

"Yes  — ." 

"Well,  I'm  not  going."  And  Mason,  sen 
ior,  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"You're  not!  Not  when  the  whole  deal 
hinges  on  it?"  Hal  exclaimed  eagerly. 

"How  could  I  cross  the  continent  in  the 
middle  of  summer  with  my  lameness?"  his 
father  snapped.  "No,  sir,  I'm  going  to  send 
some  one  else." 

27 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     ** 

"Some  one  from  the  New  York  office?" 
The  inquiry  was  made  almost  indifferently. 

"New  York  office?  No!  MacDonald's 
a  sample  of  the  New  York  office  talent."  He 
hesitated  an  instant,  and  then,  tapping  his 
chin  with  his  eye  glasses,  added,  tersely, 
"I'm  going  to  send  you  I" 

Harold  Mason  gripped  the  arms  of  his 
chair  and  leaned  forward. 

"You're  going  to  send  me!"  he  cried. 

His  father  nodded.  "That's  what  I  said, 
and  this  is  what  you're  going  to  do :  You're 
going  to  wire  today  to  Chicago  for  a  section 
on  the  California  train  which  leaves  for  the 
West  over  the  Santa  Fe  at  eight  o'clock  Fri 
day  evening.  You're  going  to  wire  Tomp- 
kins  that  you  are  coming,  and  that  you  wish 
him  to  withhold  final  decision  until  you 
reach  him,  and  you're  going  to  sign  it  plain 
28 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

'Mason.'  I'll  wire  MacDonald  to  jump 
into  the  Pacific  or  lose  himself  in  the  Grand 
Canyon,  or  come  back  here  and  take  up  the 
office-boy's  work  in  New  York,  for  I  mean 
to  come  on  myself  and  'turn  the  trick' — 
there's  some  more  of  your  Harvard  slang. 
We  have  to  lie  once  in  a  while,  I  suppose ; 
but  this  is  a  white  lie,  and  does  no  one  any 
harm.  Do  you  understand?" 

Young  Mason  did  not,  quite,  but  he 
nodded  weakly. 

"And  you're  to  see  Tompkins — I've  never 
seen  him  in  my  life  nor  he  me — and  you're 
to  do  in  my  name  what  MacDonald  tried  to 
do  and  couldn't.  You  know  the  whole  af 
fair.  You  know  the  Boston-Portland  Trac 
tion  deal  will  go  up  in  smoke  unless  we  can 
interest  Tompkins,  and  if  it  does  go  up  in 
smoke,  so  do  all  the  rest  and  so  do  we.  Un- 

29 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

derstand  that,  make  no  mistake  about  that — 
we  Jo  too!  So  it  depends  upon  you 
whether  you  and  I  eat  three  meals  a  day  and 
sleep  in  our  own  beds  or  remove  to  a  Settle 
ment  lodging  house." 

There  ensued  a  brief  period  of  silence. 
Harold  Mason  strode  over  to  the  window 
and  looked  down  into  Tremont  Street.  He 
did  not  distinguish  anything  there  at  first, 
but  quite  unconsciously,  after  a  moment,  his 
eyes  focused  upon  a  brougham  that  he  rec 
ognized  as  Mrs.  Worrington's.  It  drew  up 
at  the  curb  directly  beneath  the  window. 
The  footman  descended  and  opened  the 
door.  Sibyl  Anstruther  stepped  out. 

"Well?" 

He  turned  then,  and  faced  his  father. 
"There's  one  thing  I  want  to  know,"  he  said 
quietly,  though  in  his  voice  there  was  some- 
30 


A  YOUNG  MAN'S  PEACE    ^    ^    •* 

thing  of  the  quality  that  at  times  character 
ized  the  older  man's,  "I  want  to  know  if  this 
matter  is  quite  as  serious  as  you  make  out?" 

"As  serious  as — you  don't  want  to  try  it, 
eh — so  that's  what  you  mean,  is  it?" 

The  gauge  of  John  Mason's  face  indi 
cated  a  rising  pressure  within. 

"Just  a  moment.  It  isn't  quite  that.  Only 
I  want  to  know  if  I've  been  a  rotten  failure 
with  you  here  in  the  office  thus  far  and  if 
this  is  just  your  way  of  letting  me  down?" 

In  the  ten  minutes  his  father  had  taken  to 
explain  the  situation,  Harold  Mason  had  re 
membered  many  another  interview  with 
"the  Governor,"  as  he  was  wont  to  call  him, 
in  which  the  latter  had  voiced  opinions  that 
an  hour  later  he  regretted  having  made  as 
much  as  his  son  regretted  having  heard. 
Harold  Mason,  himself,  especially  in  blue 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     ^ 

moments,  had  more  than  once  told  himself 
that  his  successes  since  leaving  college  had 
been  rather  more  social  than  "industrial." 

"Letting  you  down !"  his  father  exclaimed 
— "Letting  you  down.  Great  heavens,  do 
you  suppose  I've  been  putting  what  brain 
IVe  got  left  through  a  course  of  gymnastics 
all  the  morning  in  order  to  let  you  down 
easy?  No,  sir,  this  is  business — plain,  cold 
blooded  business,  and  I'm  sending  you  be 
cause  there's  no  one  else;  besides,  it's  a 
rather  delicate  matter  and  the  fewer  in  the 
offices  who  know  its  ins  and  outs,  the  better." 

"Very  well,  sir,  I'll  go.  I  only  wanted  to 
know.  I  thought  perhaps  — ."  He  did  not 
finish  the  sentence. 

"You  thought  perhaps  what?"  his  father 
called  to  him.  The  young  man  turned  from 
the  door  with  a  smile,  as  he  opened  it. 
32 


A  YOUNG  MAN'S  PEACE    •*•    ^    ^ 

"Nothing — nothing  at  all,  father,"  he  re 
plied.  "I'll  make  my  plans  at  once." 

"You  understand  everything?" 

"Yes,  sir."  He  closed  the  door,  crossed 
the  large  room,  and  entering  his  own  office, 
closed  its  door  as  well. 

Could  he  have  seen  his  father's  face  as  he 
turned  from  him,  he  would  have  wondered 
much,  for  John  Mason  not  only  smiled, 
gleefully,  but  rubbed  his  hands,  delightedly. 
Then  he  bent  over  his  desk  and  wrote  an  in 
timately  private  letter  to  Huber  of  the  New 
York  office  from  which  this  paragraph,  as 
pertinent  to  this  story,  may  have  some  in 
terest  for  the  reader: 

"Hal  took  it  easily.  I  believe  he  really 
thinks  it  is  our  salvation  to  engage  Tomp- 
kins'  interest.  As  you  know,  it  isn't  quite, 
but  it  will  be  good  for  us.  The  fact  of  the 

33 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *>     •** 

matter  is  I  want  to  see  if  it  is  all  girls  with 
the  boy,  or  whether  he  is  in  the  least  amen 
able  to  a  business  influence.  A  girl  in  par 
ticular,  or  girls  in  general,  are  good  for  a 
boy  if  she — or  they — can  help.  If  not,  their 
value  is  that  of  a  cipher,  no  more,  no  less. 
Once  in  my  talk  with  the  boy,  I  thought  he 
was  beginning  to  see  through  the  plan,  but 
he  didn't.  Really,  Huber,  I  am  amazed  at 
my  own  histrionic  talent.  As  for  the  boy's 
chances  of  success,  they  are  rather  slim,  but 
one  can  never  tell.  Twice  he  sat  up  and 
took  notice  during  our  talk.  His  chin  went 
square,  his  mouth  straightened,  and  really  I 
guess  he's  got  something  of  the  old  man  in 
him  after  all.  From  the  result,  be  it  success 
or  failure,  I  can  tell  what  I  am  keen  to 
know,  i.  e.,  is  my  boy  worth  a — well,  any 
thing  to  speak  of  I" 

34 


The   Determination   of  Youth 


II.  THE  DETERMINATION  OF  YOUTH 

Yp<OWEVER  much  Harold  Mason 
-*--*  might  have  wondered  had  he  seen  his 
father's  face  as  he  wrote  that  letter  to  his 
confidential  man  in  New  York,  his  wonder 
would  have  been  as  naught  compared  to  his 
father's  could  that  wise  parent  have  seen 
his  son's  face  and  heard  the  muttered  impre 
cation  that  issued  from  his  lips  as  he  shut 
the  door  of  his  own  little  office  and  flung 
himself  solidly  into  his  desk  chair;  for  Har 
old  Mason  was  out  of  sorts,  shockingly  out 
of  sorts  for  him.  It  was  not  so  much  with 
his  father  that  he  waged  a  mental  warfare 
as  with  himself  and  circumstances. 

"The  Governor's  all  right,"  he  assured 
himself  honestly,  "but  why  couldn't  this  all 
have  happened  in  October  instead  of  July? 

37 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

That's  what  I'd  like  to  know,  and  blow 
MacDonald  anyway  1" 

He  gazed  out  the  window  as  though  he 
rather  expected  the  dirty,  drab  roofs  to  an 
swer  him.  And  perhaps  they  did,  for 
presently  he  sat  up  and  the  scowl  vanished 
from  between  his  eyes.  "I'm  a  bally  ass," 
he  muttered — "a  downright  Harvard  grad 
uate  ass — the  worst  species  known  to  science. 
Here  I've  been  for  three  years  hanging  to 
the  tail  of  the  Governor's  kite  and  just  when 
a  ripping  opportunity  comes  along  for  me 
to  show  him  1  am  good  for  something  be 
sides  keeping  this  chair  warm  and  doing 
general  office-work,  I'm  not  keen  for  it. 
Hal  Mason,"  he  squared  his  shoulders 
and  his  jaw  came  forward  again — "Hal 
Mason,  you've  got  to  cut  out  the  girls!" 

Delivering    this    resolve,    valiantly,    his 

38 


DETERMINATION 


chin  receded,  and  an  infinitely  tender  light 
came  into  his  blue  eyes  as  he  stared  unsee 
ing  at  the  little  clock  ticking  its  life  away  on 
his  desk.  His  memory  slipped  back  three 
days.  The  cold,  insensate  walls  of  his  lit 
tle  room  were  transformed  into  foliage.  The 
air  became  heavy  with  incense;  the  sunlight 
dimmed  to  candle-glow.  He  stood  before  a 
girl  whose  arch  face  was  upturned  to  him 
from  the  shade  of  the  great  palm  leaves. 
From  somewhere  came  the  sounds  of  music  ; 
he  could  distinguish  quite  clearly  the  plaint 
of  the  harp  ;  and  the  violin  cried  out  to  him 
as  he  stood  there  gazing  down  into  the  girl's 
deep  eyes.-  He  could  not  remember  what 
he  had  said  ;  he  did  not  try  to  remember.  It 
was  enough  only  to  remember  that  he  had 
gazed  into  her  eyes  and  that  the  rose  at  her 
bosom  trembled  as  she  breathed. 

39 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

He  blinked  and  pulled  himself  together. 
Utter  folly!  Absurd!  A  girl  whom  he 
had  met  but  twice;  one  of  many  girls  into 
whose  eyes  he  had  gazed  as  one  might  gaze 
into  the  still  pool  of  a  forest  spring,  ponder 
ing  its  depths. 

Well,  it  was  all  over  now.  He  would  be 
away  at  least  a  fortnight  and  when  he  re 
turned  Townsend  would  be  running  things 
in  his  own  way.  It  was  too  bad  to  miss  Mrs, 
Worrington's  dinner  dance.  He  would  be 
well  on  his  journey  by  then.  Fleeing  on  to 
ward  Chicago,  he  could  think  of  Sibyl 
there,  only  he  would  have  to  think  of  Town- 
send  too.  A  little  frown  marred  the  smooth 
ness  of  his  brow  again. 

He  had  the  Governor's  confidence  though  I 
By  Jove  he  had  that!  And  after  all,  what 
does  missing  a  dance  with  a  beautiful  girl 
40 


DETERMINATION 


amount  to  compared  to  winning  one's  Gov 
ernor's  confidence?  He  brought  his 
clenched  fist  down  upon  his  desk  with  a 
thwack  that  caused  Michael  in  the  outer 
office  to  look  up  with  alarm. 

"I'll  hold  up  that  old  Colonel  Tompkins 
on  this  deal  or  I'll—  I'll—  I'll  chloroform 
him  and  go  through  his  safe!"  he  exclaimed. 
"And  incidentally  I'll  show  the  Governor 
that  his  blond  beauty  of  a  son  can  deliver 
the  goods!" 

How  "the  Governor"  himself,  in  the  sanc 
tity  of  his  private  office,  would  have 
chuckled  if  he  could  have  heard  that! 

"I  wonder,"  he  went  on,  taking  the  little 
clock  into  his  confidence,  "if  it  really  is  as 
serious  as  he  would  have  me  believe.  Be 
sides,  isn't  there  any  money  nearer  Boston 
than  San  Francisco?  But  he  gave  me  his 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

word."  And  he  consoled  himself  with  the 
thought  that  the  Governor  would  not  send 
him  across  the  continent — especially  in  the 
dead  of  summer — if  it  were  not  necessary, 
and,  of  course,  the  Governor  couldn't 
make  the  trip  himself.  The  sleeper  to  New 
York,  or  the  Fall  River  boat  occasionally 
was  bad  enough ;  a  journey  of  four  thousand 
miles  was  quite  out  of  the  question.  Well, 
he  must  arrange  affairs.  And  it  is  interest 
ing  to  note  that  the  first  step  he  took  toward 
arranging  them  was  to  send  to  Miss  Sibyl 
Anstruther  a  great  box  of  flowers.  He  tele 
phoned  for  a  lower  berth  on  the  Boston- 
Chicago  special  for  the  next  night.  This 
done,  he  went  to  luncheon  at  the  St. 
Botolph.  The  mere  fact  that  he  was  a  mem 
ber  of  the  St.  Botolph  classifies  him.  He 
was  not  an  artist,  nor  yet  a  writer,  but  he 
42 


DETERMINATION 


rather  preferred  the  society  of  artists  so  — 
he  joined  the  St.  Botolph. 

As  the  waiter  served  him  his  ice,  he 
recalled  suddenly  that  he  had  not  written 
Mrs.  Worrington.  He  would  do  so  at  once, 
as  soon  as  he  left  the  table,  or,  what  was  bet 
ter  still,  he  would  telephone  her.  Yes,  that 
by  all  means.  He  knew  her  quite  well 
enough,  he  assured  himself.  Perhaps,  also, 
he  might  speak  a  word  to  Sibyl  herself.  It 
annoyed  him  exceedingly  to  be  told  by  the 
operator  at  Central  that  the  line  was  busy. 
He  banged  the  receiver  upon  its  hook  and 
strode  out  of  the  club  house. 

It  was  Michael,  the  office  boy,  who  van 
quished  his  frown  as  he  entered  the  office  at 
two  o'clock. 

"A  telephone  call  on  your  desk,  sir,"  re 
marked  the  youth. 

43 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     ^ 

It  was  Mrs.  Worrington's  number,  but 
as  Mason  drew  the  instrument  toward  him, 
the  bell  tinkled,  and  Michael,  from  his  lit 
tle  desk  in  a  corner  of  the  outer  office,  heard 
this  one-sided  conversation: 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Worrington.  Yes.  Just  about 
to  call  you  up." 

"I  beg  pardon — the  connection  — ." 

"Yes." 

"The  dance  is  all  off?" 

"So  sorry." 

"Gone!    Not  for  good?" 

(Michael  could  not  see  his  sick  face.) 

"You're  to  tell  me  good-by  for  her.  Ever 
so  grateful." 

"Yes,  you  keep  the  flowers.    Dol" 

"I'm  leaving  town,  myself,  tomorrow." 

"Sorry,  but  I  can't  really — not  time,  you 
know." 

44 


DETERMINATION 


"Yes,  business,  of  course." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha,— I'd  like  to  say  what  I  think, 
but  if  I  should  the  operator  would  cut  me 
off.  Yes?" 

"Oh,  very  well.  Shall  look  in  on  you 
when  I  return.  I'm  leaving  for — Hello! 
Hello!  I  say,  hello!  Central— Rot!" 

And  for  the  second  time  that  day,  he 
vented  his  spleen  against  the  telephone  com 
pany  by  nearly  ruining  the  practicability  of 
one  of  the  company's  most  expensive  desk 
instruments. 

What  was  it  Mrs.  Worrington  had  said 
about  Sibyl's  aunt?  Who  was  her  aunt? 
Why  had  she  an  aunt,  anyway?  These  and 
other  questions  of  similar  import  Mason 
asked  himself  as  he  squared  his  goodly  bulk 
to  his  desk.  It  was  all  over  now.  And 
Sibyl  herself  had  ended  it.  Very  well.  Sud- 

45 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     •* 

denly  he  wheeled  in  his  chair.    He  had,  for 
the  moment,  forgotten  Townsend. 

"He's  lost,  too,"  he  said  to  himself,  "and 
there's  more  than  a  grain  of  consolation  in 
that."  Indeed,  the  more  he  thought  of 
Townsend's  plight,  the  more  cheerful  he 
became.  He  whistled.  In  his  own  misery, 
which  he  tried  bravely  to  deny,  he  relished 
Townsend's.  But  how  was  the  freckled 
Michael  to  know  that  this  was  the  reason 
Mason  gave  him  a  half-dollar  when  he 
brought  in  the  late  afternoon  mail? 


A  Pair  of  Eyes  Across  the  Aisle 


III.  A  PAIR  OF  EYES  ACROSS  THE  AISLE 


'X-TND  UNDERSTAND,"  the  elder 
2—  *.  Mason  was  saying,  "that  it  all  rests 
with  you.  It's  your  great  opportunity.  I 
expect  that  one  of  these  days  you  will  step 
into  Huber's  position;  and  if  you  win  this 
time,  there  is  no  limit  to  the  length  you  may 
go.  I  shall  send  you  to  Tokio  next." 

Young  Mason  looked  up  quickly.  His 
father  was  watching  him,  shielding  his  eyes 
from  the  brilliance  of  the  electric  desk-light 
with  one  hand. 

"You  mean  to  put  through  that  new  line 
in  Tokio?"  he  inquired  quietly. 

The  elder  Mason  nodded. 

Hal  rose  and  took  up  his  bag.     "Good- 
by,  father,"  he  said,  extending  a  hand  which 
the  other  grasped  and  wrung. 
49 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     * 

"Good-by — wire  often — good  luck." 

That  was  all. 

Mason,  senior,  heard  his  son's  foot-falls 
as  he  crossed  the  outer  office;  the  door 
closed ;  he  was  gone.  From  his  window  he 
saw  him  spring  into  the  cab  waiting,  under 
an  electric  light,  in  the  street  below,  and  as 
he  turned  from  the  window  he  said,  aloud  to 
himself: 

"He'll  do  it — he'll  do  it — and  if  he  can 
interest  Tompkins  he  can  do  anything." 

A  fine  mist  of  rain  was  sifting  through 
the  air  as  the  cab  drew  up  at  the  South  Sta 
tion.  Mason  alighted,  paid  his  driver  and 
proceeded  to  the  gate.  Late  as  it  was  the 
great  station  was  filled  with  an  eager,  bust 
ling  throng.  An  elevated  train  in  Summer 
Street,  without,  clanged  by.  Porters 
shouted  to  their  charges.  Down  the  way 
50 


A  PAIR  OF  EYES 


an  engine  bell  rang  out,  then  another  ;  gates 
were  banged  shut.  All  Boston  apparently 
had  been  seized  with  a  sudden  desire  to  go 
away,  and  was  unanimously  acting  upon 
that  desire. 

The  porter  conducted  Mason  to  his  sec 
tion,  and  thrust  his  bag  beneath  the  berth. 
The  train  was  due  to  leave  in  six  minutes. 
The  vehicular  absurdity  which  we  of 
America  call  a  sleeping-car  had  always  dis 
gusted  Mason  and  never  more  deeply  than 
tonight.  Preparing  to  retire  in  a  Pullman 
was  rather  like  going  to  bed  in  a  crowded 
theatre.  He  shot  one  glance  down  the  car. 
From  between  the  curtains  near  the  end  pro 
jected  a  foot  and  ankle  —  a  feminine  foot  and 
ankle  clad  in  a  tan  silk  stocking.  Beyond 
stood  a  woman  in  a  green  dressing  sack, 
braiding  her  hair  before  the  mirror  in  the 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     * 

"drawing-room"  door.  From  overhead 
somewhere  came  the  subdued  cursing  of  a 
man  as  he  adjusted  himself  to  the  shelf  upon 
which  he  was  to  spend  the  night.  The  car 
was  hot  and  stuffy,  its  atmosphere  carrying 
a  faint  scent  of  ammonia.  Someone  was 
snoring  midway  down  the  aisle. 

The  young  man  entered  the  narrow  com 
partment  at  the  rear  of  the  Pullman  to  find 
the  air  there  already  opalescent  with  smoke. 
A  fat  man  in  a  pink  shirt,  coatless,  collarless 
and  in  his  stocking  feet,  was  bathing  his  pur 
ple  face  luxuriously.  A  small  salesman  was 
ensconced  in  one  corner  of  the  compartment 
puffing  at  a  long,  slim  Pittsburg  stogie.  He 
nodded  agreeably  as  Mason  sank  upon  the 
leathern  cushion  beside  him. 

"Coin7  far?"  he  enquired. 

"  'Frisco." 


A  PAIR  OF  EYES       •* 


"So?  Pretty  hot,  ain't  it?  Northern 
route,  I  suppose?" 

"Santa  Fe." 

The  little  man  nodded.  "Interesting,"  he 
opined,  "but  may  be  a  little  hot  in  Arizona 
in  July.  There  the  Fourth  last  year  —  120 
in  the  shade  —  that's  all,"  and  he  exhaled  a 
jet  of  blue  smoke  complacently. 

He  seemed  an  agreeable  little  man  and 
Mason  smiled.  Conversation,  however, 
lagged.  The  fat  man  in  the  pink  shirt  dried 
his  face.  A  bell  away  off  ahead  clanged. 
The  train  pulled  out.  It  was  the  jerk  that 
aroused  Mason  to  an  appreciation  of  the 
fact  which,  till  now,  he  had  almost  forgot 
ten,  in  the  business  attendant  upon  his  de 
parture  —  that  he  was  leaving  Boston  —  and 
her. 

He  flung  away  his  half-burned  cigarette 
53 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     •* 

and  lurched  down  the  narrow,  curtained 
aisle  to  his  section. 

The  rain  still  prevented  the  opening  of 
windows,  and  for  a  long  time  Mason  tum 
bled  in  his  berth,  unable  to  sleep.  Now  that 
he  was  all  alone,  and  there  was  nothing  for 
him  to  think  about  in  the  business  he  had 
engaged  upon — every  detail  of  which  he 
had  gone  over  again  and  again  with  his 
father  that  afternoon — his  mind  reverted  to 
a  consideration  of  her.  He  fell  asleep  at 
last  and  dreamed  that  in  some  inexplicable 
way  he  was  overhearing  Townsend  propose 
to  her.  Great  heavens,  she  had  accepted 
him  I 

He  awoke. 

Cautiously  he  thrust  his  head  through  the 
curtains  of  his  berth.  The  other  passengers 
were  moving.  Niagara  Falls  had  been  left 

54 


A  PAIR  OF  EYES 


behind.  When  the  porter  had  suggested 
awakening  him  to  view  that  tumbling  mass 
of  water  he  had  replied,  testily,  "Do  it  at 
your  peril." 

One  by  one  the  tired,  aching,  and 
wrinkled  occupants  of  the  car  crept  from 
between  the  curtains  of  their  respective 
berths.  The  woman  whom  Mason  had  ob 
served  before  the  mirror,  staggered  down 
the  aisle  in  the  same  green  sack  and  a  shot- 
silk  skirt,  clutching  a  bromide  bottle.  The 
owner  of  the  silk  clad  ankle  appeared  shock 
ingly  haggard  in  the  light  with  a  cast  to  her 
face  that  plainly  betokened  the  vaudeville 
stage.  Mason  assured  himself  that  an  ankle 
gives  no  clue.  He  dressed  hurriedly  and 
joined  his  companions  in  distress  in  the 
toilet  room  at  the  end  of  the  car.  Everyone 
appeared  at  odds  with  himself  and  the 

55 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     ^ 

world.  The  fat  man  was  changing  his  shirt. 
The  salesman  was  polishing  his  eye  glasses 
by  the  window. 

"Worst  night  I  ever  put  in,"  he  observed 
to  the  flying  landscape,  outside.  But  no  one 
either  agreed  or  dissented.  The  fat  man,  at 
a  sudden  jolt  of  the  car,  dropped  his  collar- 
button  into  the  nickel-plated  cuspidor  be 
tween  his  feet  and  swore  vociferously. 

A  white-coated  waiter  came  through  the 
car  calling  breakfast.  Mason  escaped  from 
the  toilet  room  and  sauntered  through  to  the 
dining-car,  forward.  The  small  salesman 
was  already  engaged  upon  a  steak.  The  at 
tendant  drew  forth  a  chair  at  one  of  the 
smaller  tables.  Some  one  had  left  a  copy  of 
the  morning  paper  and  Mason  took  it  up. 
He  scanned  the  headlines  indifferently. 
Presently  his  waiter  returned  with  his 

56 


A  PAIR  OF  EYES 


breakfast.  He  put  down  the  paper.  As  he 
raised  a  glass  of  water  to  his  lips,  he  chanced 
to  glance  across  the  aisle.  A  girl  was  sitting 
at  the  table  opposite  his  own ;  at  the  moment 
she  was  looking  out  the  window  and  her 
face  was  averted.  Then  she  turned  and 
Harold  Mason  looked  into  the  startled  eyes 
of  Sibyl  Anstruther, 


57 


Explanation  and  Rejoicing 


IV.   EXPLANATION  AND  REJOICING 

It  was  almost  a  scream. 
The  small  salesman  looked  up  from 
his  steak.    Mason  was  staring  at  the  girl. 

She  smiled  at  him  as  she  had  once  before 
— he  could  never  forget  that  smile.  The 
same  two  little  lines  appeared  again  be 
tween  her  eyebrows. 

"Yes — I,"  she  answered,  with  a  gay  nod. 

Then  he  plunged  across  the  aisle  and  took 
her  hand. 

"You're  not  served — won't  you  — ." 

"Sit  at  your  table?  Of  course.  I'd 
rather."  And  she  smiled  again,  the  more 
archly. 

Neither  observed  the  wink  the  waiter 
gave  the  stolid  conductor  who  stood  at  the 
end  of  the  car  with  his  back  to  the  buffet, 
61 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     ^ 

idly  polishing  one  of  the  brass  buttons  on 
his  white  pique  waistcoat. 

Mason's  throat  filled  up  in  a  most  extra 
ordinary  manner  and  he  could  only  mutter: 

"Amazing!    Wonderful!" 

And  it  might  have  been  observed  that  his 
hand  trembled  as  he  passed  her  the  salt  for 
her  cantaloup. 

"The  scenery,  you  mean?"  she  exclaimed 
with  some  surprise.  "How  can  you  say  so? 
I  think  this  particular  part  of  Canada  is 
simply  stupid." 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  the  scenery,"  he  re 
plied.  Their  eyes  met.  Perhaps  hers  read 
in  his  what  his  heart  was  crying  out,  for  she 
let  them  fall  to  a  consideration  of  her  melon. 

"I  was  thinking  how  amazing  it  is  that 
we  should  meet  again  in  such  a  way.  When 
the  Governor  sent  me  off  on  this  jaunt  I — 
62 


EXPLANATION 


well,  I  was  sore  —  downright  sore.  It  would 
mean  missing  Mrs.  Worrington's  dance  — 
and  all  that,  you  know.  I  'phoned  her  yes 
terday  and  she  said  you  were  going  away  — 
something  about  an  aunt,  I  believe,  and  that 
the  dance  was  all  off.  I  was  rather  glad  of 
that  —  selfish,  you  know." 

"It  <was  a  shame,"  she  replied  —  how  ex 
quisitely  she  broke  her  toast,  he  was  think 
ing  —  "that  it  should  have  happened  just 
then.  I'd  only  time  to  run  over  to  New  York 
and  get  the  fewest  of  necessary  things. 
Daisy,  I  mean  Mrs.  Worrington,  is  packing 
two  of  my  trunks  even  now.  They're  to  fol 
low  today.  But  it's  jolly  to  meet  some  one  I 
know.  Doesn't  it  bore  you  to  travel?  I 
only  wish  you  were  going  'way  through." 

Her  eyes  fell,  but  she  lifted  them  to  his 
again  as  she  asked  : 

63 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     •* 

"How  far  are  you  going,  Mr.  Mason?" 
"San  Francisco,"  he  replied  wearily. 
She  started,  a  bit  of  toast  poised  midway 
to  her  lips.  "San  Francisco!"  she  exclaimed, 
"why,  so  am  I !" 

"You!    You,  going  to  San  Francisco!" 
"Oh,  won't  it  be  jolly?"  she  ran  on.  "And 
you  do  get  such  good  things  to  eat  west  of 
Chicago!" 

Her  face  was  all  alight;  in  striking  con 
trast  to  his  suddenly  clouded  countenance. 
For  Mason,  after  the  first  delighted  wonder 
at  this  unlooked-for  meeting  with  Sibyl  An- 
struther,  had  been  straightway  precipitated 
into  the  deepest  depths  of  black  despair.  She 
seemed  wholly  unconscious,  he  told  himself, 
that  the  mountains  and  deserts  out  there 
were  spanned  by  many — all  too  many — 
bands  of  parallel  rails. 


EXPLANATION 


"I'm  sorry,"  he  managed  to  say,  "but  I 
must  take  the  southern  route  out  of  Chicago. 
I  suppose  you  — ." 

"The  Santa  Fe?"  she  broke  in  blithely. 

He  nodded. 

"So  do  I."  She  said  it  so  indifferently, 
so  calmly,  so  much  as  though  she  were  tell 
ing  him,  "No,  two  lumps,  please,"  that  he 
stared  at  her,  blankly.  Yet  there  was  the 
little  smile  still  playing  about  her  eyes. 

"You  mean  to  say  that  you  go  out  of  Chi 
cago — that  you  take  the  Santa  Fe  tomorrow 
night,  too?" 

It  was  a  gay  little  nod  that  she  gave  him. 
"Unfortunately,  it  must  be  tomorrow 
night,"  she  said,  "we — I  mean  I,  shall  miss 
tonight's  train  by  just  fifty  minutes." 

Mason  wanted  to  leap  from  his  chair;  he 
felt  an  almost  uncontrollable  desire  to  break 

65 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *•     •*• 

the  trim  furniture  of  that  breakfast-car  and 
dance  up  and  down  from  vestibule  to  vesti 
bule.  As  it  was,  however,  he  accidentally 
brushed  a  spoon  from  the  table  and,  stoop 
ing  to  recover  it,  muttered  to  himself,  his 
face  hidden  by  the  damask;  "Oh,  say — oh, 
say!" 

It  was  later  when  he  found  himself  hap 
pily  alone  in  the  smoking  compartment  that 
he  danced  that  little  pas  seul  that  would 
have  been  so  out  of  place  at  breakfast. 

Conversation  became  quite  ordinary 
afterward.  She  told  him  how  it  chanced 
that  she  had  left  Boston  so  unexpectedly. 

"You  know  I  am  one  of  those  poor,  home 
less,  dreary  creatures  whom  they  call  or 
phans,"  she  said,  "but  fortunately  I've  two 
aunts — my  mother's  sisters.  One  of  them 
lives  in  New  York  and  the  other — Aunt 
66 


'I  AM  ONE  OF  THOSE  POOR,  HOMELESS  CREATURES  CALLED  ORPHANS" 


EXPLANATION 


Jane — lives  in  San  Francisco.  I  vibrate  be 
tween  them.  Oh,  I'm  ever  so  lavish!  I 
have  two  homes,  one  East,  one  West,  like  a 
Montana  copper  king.  I've  been  in  New 
York  all  winter,  that  is,  I  had  been  till  I 
went  over  to  Boston  for  a  good  visit  with 
Daisy  Worrington;  she  and  I  were  school 
mates  and  the  best  sort  of  chums  at  the 
Misses  Fealy's  school,  you  know.  I  knew 
that  I  should  have  to  be  going  back  West 
sooner  or  later — maybe  to  Japan — but  I 
didn't  think  it  would  be  so  soon.  I'd  a  wire 
from  Aunt  Jane  only  two  days  ago,  for 
warded  me  from  New  York,  to  come  'home' 
immediately,  as  she  means  to  sail  for  Tokio 
a  week  from  Thursday.  Aunt  Jane,  you 
see,  can't  travel  without  me,  or  at  least  she 
won't,  so  I  had  to  vibrate." 

Her  smile  said,  "Of  course,  you  under- 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     * 

stand,"  more  plainly  than  words ;  but  Mason 
did  not,  quite,  for  all  that. 

"But  Japan  now — with  the  war  on?  I 
shouldn't  think — "  he  began. 

"Oh,  that's  because  you  don't  know  Aunt 
Jane,"  she  broke  in  laughing.  "Ever  since 
the  Japs  began  to  sink  the  Russian  ships, 
she's  been  frightfully  keen  to  go  over.  She 
says  she  must  see  Japan  in  action.  But  you 
know  in  Tokio  you'd  never  think  there  was 
a  war.  You  know  Japan?" 

She  asked  it  so  lightly,  so  much  as  though 
she  believed  he  must  "know  Japan,"  that  he 
blushed. 

"No,"  he  replied,  "I  don't,  though  some 
day  I  may.  To  tell  the  truth,  Miss  An- 
struther,  I've  never  been  anywhere  but  Mel- 
rose  and  Brookline," — she  smiled — "and  to 
Harvard." 

68 


EXPLANATION 


"You  don't  mean  to  say  you've  never  been 
to  the  Coast?"  she  exclaimed,  as  though  it 
were  an  inconceivable  matter  that  he  should 
not. 

"There  you  go,"  he  challenged;  "the 
Coast  —  the  Coast,  mind  you." 

He  placed  his  elbows  on  the  table.  "Miss 
Anstruther,  please  tell  me  why  all  you  Cali- 
fornians  —  ." 

"Don't  say  you  Californians,"  she  re 
proved,  "for  I'm  just  as  much  a  New  York 
girl  as  I  am  a  'Frisco  girl,  even  if  my  incli 
nations  are  toward  the  latter." 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  All  Californians 
then  —  why  do  all  Californians  call  their 
coast  the  Coast?  You've  never  heard  one 
of  them  call  it  anything  else.  One  would 
think  there  was  not  another  coast  in  the 
world  —  ." 

69 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

"There  isn't,"  was  her  quick  reply — "just 
like  it." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Oh,  you'll  say  so  yourself  when  you  see 
it,"  she  added  defensively,  "especially  if  you 
take  the  Coast  Line  up." 

"But  my  Coast — the  Atlantic  Coast,"  he 
insisted. 

"Oh,  the  Atlantic  Coast  is  nice — nice  and 
rock-ribbed,  as  the  poet  says — but — well,  just 
wait.  I  know  what  I'm  going  to  do,"  she 
cried,  and  only  caught  herself  as  she  would 
have  clapped  her  hands.  "I'm  going  to 
educate  you.  You  needn't  lift  your  eye 
brows.  You're  so  saturated  with  that — that 
Bostonism,  that  you  think  nothing  exists  out 
West — nothing  west  of  Rahway.  Why, 
have  you  ever  thought  what  would  happen 
to  you  if  it  were  not  for  the  West?" 
70 


EXPLANATION 


He  laughed.     "No,  what?" 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,  you  wouldn't 
have  a  roof  to  cover  you,  for  all  your  lumber 
nowadays  comes  from  out  there  ;  Washing 
ton.  And  so  you'd  have  to  live  in  a  hole  in 
that  rock-ribbed  coast  of  yours.  Then  you 
wouldn't  have  any  clothes."  He  looked 
his  amazement.  "The  clothes  you  have  on," 
she  continued,  "unless  they  came  from  Lon 
don  —  -which  I  don't  think  they  did  because 
they  fit  too  well  —  are  made  of  wool  that  not 
long  ago  was  covering  the  back  of  a  lambkin 
out  in  New  Mexico  or  Nevada  or  Wyom 
ing.  And  you'd  have  nothing  to  eat,  either 
—  you'll  see  where  your  beef  steaks  come 
from  when  we  reach  —  when  the  train 
crosses  Kansas  and  a  corner  of  Colorado.  So, 
you  see,  if  it  were  not  for  the  West  which 
you  are  going  to  view  for  the  first  time  under 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     •* 

my  guidance,  you  would  be  starving  to 
death,  undressed,  in  a  hole,  in  that  rock- 
ribbed  coast  of  yours!" 

Her  elbows  were  on  the  table  and  the 
tips  of  her  fingers  met;  across  them  she  was 
regarding  him,  and  in  her  eyes  was  a  light 
half  whimsical,  half  mocking. 

"Here  endeth  the  first  lesson,"  she  con 
cluded  gayly,  "and  it  may  please  you  to 
know  that  I  think  you  promise  to  be  a  very 
— oh,  a  very  receptive  pupil.  Who  would 
have  thought,"  she  added,  as  they  rose  from 
the  table,  "that  I  should  ever  be  the  precep 
tress  of  a  finishing  school  for  Harvard 
graduates!" 

"But  what  will  your  revered  aunt  say 
when  she  learns  of  all  this?"  he  made  bold 
to  enquire,  as  they  crossed  the  vestibule  into 
the  Pullman  behind. 

72 


EXPLANATION 


She  turned  up  to  him  a  merry  face. 

"It  is  barely  possible,"  she  replied,  naive 
ly,  "that  Aunt  Jane  will  never  know." 

He  was  about  to  seat  himself  beside  her, 
but  she  held  out  her  arm. 

"No,"  she  said,  "you  are  not  to  stay  here. 
This  is  the  New  York  car.  You  are  to  go 
back  to  the  Boston  Pullman  and  curl  your 
self  up  in  a  corner  of  the  smoking  compart 
ment  and  ponder  what  I  have  told  you.  At 
Detroit  I  may  let  you  stand  beside  me  at  the 
rail  of  the  ferry  as  we  cross  the  river.  Re 
member,"  she  warned,  as  he  made  no  sign 
of  leaving,  but  still  stood  looking  down  into 
her  laughing  face,  "you  must  obey  your 
teacher." 

"I  obey,"  he  said.  He  bowed  stiffly  and 
lurched  up  the  aisle. 

It  was  then,  when  he  found  himself  alone 

73 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *•     * 

in  the  smoking  compartment,  at  the  rear  of 
the  second  Boston  sleeper,  that  he  hugged 
himself  and  indulged  in  that  little  pas  sent. 

"Gad  I"  he  muttered  as  he  threw  himself 
into  the  seat  and  lighted  a  cigarette,  "You 
may  bet  your  last  bon-bon,  Sibyl  Anstruther, 
that  I  shall  be  a  receptive  pupil!  But  I 
wonder  what  the  Governor  would  say,"  he 
mused,  chuckling. 


74 


An   Education  in   Little 


V.  AN  EDUCATION  IN  LITTLE 

E  JOINED  her  at  the  rail  as  the  ferry 
left  the  Walkersville  slip  and  glided 
into  the  broad  river. 

"That's  Detroit  over  there,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  I  know  of  Detroit,"  he  answered, 
"I  put  in  a  summer  once  in  Manchester, 
New  Hampshire — the  diplomatic  colony, 
you  know.  A  Detroit  man  was  there,  and 
told  me  of  this  town.  It  was  settled  by  the 
French,  or  something  of  that  sort." 

"  'Or  something  of  that  sort/  "  she  echoed 
with  a  little  scornful  tone  in  her  voice.  "So 
like  you — a  Boston  man — to  affect  an  indif 
ference  to  the  Middle  West.  I  dare  say  you 
are  not  in  the  least  interested  in  the  fact  that 
a  greater  tonnage  passes  this  city  than  does 
any  other  one  point  in  the  world." 

77 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     ^ 

"Even  the  Suez  Canal?"  he  inquired 
blandly. 

"The  Suez  Canal,  in  that  particular,  is 
not  to  be  compared  to  the  Detroit  River," 
she  answered  decisively. 

"Really!" 

He  drew  out  his  cigarette  case.  "You 
don't  mind?"  he  inquired.  She  shook  her 
head.  Lighting  the  cigarette  he  turned  and 
with  his  eyes  swept  the  river  from  the  emer 
ald  on  its  breast  at  the  east  to  the  widening 
below,  where  it  rushes  into  the  waiting  arms 
of  Lake  Erie. 

"Why,  this  is  all  rather  attractive,"  he 
said,  quietly,  as  one  who  is  careful  of  his 
opinions  and  knows  their  worth. 

"Really,  do  you  think  so?"  she  answered 
mockingly,  "I'm  so  glad." 

He  looked  down  at  her.    Her  face  was 

78 


"THAT'S  DETROIT   OVER  THERE" 


AN  EDUCATION 


averted;  she  was  gazing  at  the  sea-green 
water  just  over  the  rail.  A  playful  gust 
loosened  a  curl  by  her  ear  and  tossed  it 
against  her  cheek.  Mason  bit  through  his 
cigarette  and  thrust  his  hands  into  his 
pockets,  defensively.  The  long  traveling 
coat  she  was  wearing  hung  loosely  from  her 
shoulders. 

"Oh,  yes,  and  I  forgot!"  she  exclaimed, 
suddenly,  looking  up,  her  eyes  alight  —  "and 
they  manufacture  more  stoves  in  Detroit 
than  in  any  other  city  on  earth,  and  more 
automobiles,  too." 

"How  interesting,"  he  murmured. 

Their  eyes  met. 

"This  must  cease,"  she  commanded.    His 

eyebrows  lifted.     "I  am  trying  —  conscien 

tiously  trying  to  educate  you,  to  make  you 

feel  that  there  is  something  out  here  in  the 

79 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     ^ 

West.  I  dare  say  you  have  thought — if  you 
have  ever  thought  anything  about  it  at  all — 
that  you  could  hunt  buffalo  and  bear  and 
antelope  in  Detroit  or  Chicago — and  the 
harder  I  try  to  teach  you,  the  more  you 
laugh  at  me." 

"Oh,  I  say."  He  looked  genuinely 
grieved. 

"Yes,  you  do.  You  laugh  at  me  in  your 
collar,  as  the  French  say.  But  wait,  we're 
not  West  yet.  We're  still  in  the  East.  Den 
ver  people  would  say  we  were  in  the  'far 
East,'  just  as  Salt  Lake  people  say  the  Den 
ver  people  are.  It's  all  the  point  of  view, 
you  see — or  rather,  the  point  of  location. 
What  I  mean  you  shall  learn  before  you 
reach  the  Coast — forgive  me,  I  should  have 
specified  the  Pacific  Coast — is  that  in  this 
country — yours  and  mine — there  is  no  East 
80 


AN  EDUCATION 


or  West  or  North  or  South,  really.  I  want 
to  make  you  feel  it  is  one  country,  all  ours, 
no  matter  where  we  are." 

The  bewitching  little  light  of  whimsy  had 
gone  out  of  her  eyes  leaving  them  quite  ser 
ious.  She  had  spoken  with  great  earnest 
ness  ;  of  this  he  was  aware. 

"You  are  right,"  he  said,  frankly.  "I  un 
derstand,  and  I  mean  to  make  myself  feel  it 
all." 

"I'm  glad,"  she  exclaimed,  "for  if  you 
have  that  spirit  it  will  be  easy." 

He  would  have  liked  to  say,  "You  can 
make  me  believe  anything  —  make  me  feel 
anything." 

A  white  river-ferry  glided  across  their 

bow.     Ahead  a  smooth,  round  whaleback 

was  creeping  down  to  the  lake,  no  sign  of 

life  about  her  long,  slim,  brown  body.    The 

81 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     * 

Western  States,  lying  at  her  dock,  breathed 
like  an  animal,  drowsing  in  the  mid-day 
sun.  From  her  funnels  wreathed  an  opales 
cent  spiral  of  smoke.  On  the  dock  the  steve 
dores  were  wending  in  and  out  with  trucks ; 
little,  automatic  shuttles  weaving  the  fabric 
of  commerce.  Up  the  hills  from  the  river 
front  they  caught  glimpses  of  towers,  domes, 
geometrical  piles  of  gray  and  white  stone. 
Over  the  city  hung  a  gossamer  of  pale 
smoke.  Noiselessly  the  ferry  glided  into 
her  slip  below  Third  Street. 

"Come,"  she  said,  "we'd  better  get  into 
the  train." 

He  followed  her  down  the  narrow  pas 
sage  between  the  cars. 

"May  I  take  luncheon  with  you?"  he 
asked. 

She  nodded. 

82 


AN  EDUCATION 


When  they  were  seated  at  the  table,  he 
acknowledged,  "I've  been  thinking  over  all 
you've  told  me,  Miss  Anstruther  — ." 

"Isn't  it  so?"  she  asked  quickly. 

"Yes,  it  is,"  he  replied — "but  what  puz 
zles  me  is,  how  do  you  happen  to  know  so 
well  about  such  things?" 

She  looked  up  and  smiled  across  at  him. 
Opposite  them  at  a  double  table  sat  a  wo 
man  with  three  children,  and  next  a  clergy 
man  and  his  wife  and  daughter.  She  spoke 
low. 

"It  is  because  I  have  been  taught,"  she 
said. 

He  laughed.  "Well,  I've  been  to  school 
too,"  he  replied. 

"Oh,  I  did  not  learn  it  in  school,"  she 
made  haste  to  explain.  "It  isn't  what  you're 
taught  in  school  that  counts.  It's  what  you 

83 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

learn  after  you've  left  school.  I  know  they 
don't  think  that  way  back  in  Boston,  but  it's 
true.  One's  education  ends  with  a  Harvard 
diploma  there.  In  the  West  that  would 
only  be  the  beginning.  How  many  people 
do  you  suppose  there  are  in  Boston  who 
know  the  real  soul  of  the  glorious  country 
out  yonder;  who  know  anything  about 
Denver,  or  Salt  Lake,  or  San  Francisco,  or 
the  Mojave  desert,  or  Death  Valley;  who 
know,  because  they  have  felt  it,  the  over 
powering  grandeur  of  the  high  Sierras,  or 
the  still  sublimity  of  the  Grand  Canyon?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"But  you  know  all  about  London  and 
Paris  and  Budapest  and  St.  Petersburg  and 
Cairo!" 

She  snapped  her  fingers  impatiently. 
"You  know  all  about  Europe,  but  you  don't 


AN  EDUCATION 


know  the  least  thing  about  your  own  coun 
try,  and  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  1" 

"But  I  thought  you  called  yourself  as 
much  a  New  York  girl  as  a  Western  girl," 
he  managed  to  say. 

"I  did.  I  am.  I'm  both.  You're  only 
Boston."  She  said  it  smilingly.  "Some 
times,  after  I've  lived  the  life  of  the  West 
for  a  few  months,"  she  went  on,  "I  become 
hungry,  down-right  hungry,  for  a  glimpse 
of  Broadway  and  the  gleaming  shopfronts 
of  Fifth  Avenue.  When  I  feel  that  way  I 
pack  my  trunk  and  vibrate." 

He  laughed  with  her  at  the  frank  confes 
sion. 

"But  it's  never  for  long,"  she  went  on. 
"Last  week  I  began  to  feel  hungry  for  Aunt 
Jane  again,  at  least  I  told  Daisy,  Mrs.  Wor- 
rington,  that  it  was  Aunt  Jane.  It  wasn't 

85 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     *» 

really.  It  was  the  West.  It's  odd,  the  ef 
fect,  I  mean.  I  remember  two  years  ago, 
I'd  been  in  New  York  for  three  months. 
One  day  on  our  way  home  from  a  matinee 
at  the  Empire  Theatre  I  heard  that  call. 
Driving  up  the  avenue,  with  the  city's  life 
all  about  us,  delightful  as  it  was,  I  wanted 
the  hills.  That  queer  call  sounded  louder 
and  louder  in  my  heart.  I  would  have 
bartered  all  the  East  if  I  had  owned  it,  for 
an  hour  at  the  edge  of  the  plateau  in  the 
Grand  Canyon,  alone  in  the  silence,  gazing 
down  at  the  brown  ribbon  of  the  river  five 
thousand  feet  below.  And  after  dinner 
what  did  I  do  but  telegraph  Aunt  Jane  to 
have  me  come  'home.'  She  did  the  next  day 
and  I  left  that  night." 

She  pushed  away  the  finger  bowl  and 
rose.     Her  cheeks  were  flushed;  her  eyes 
86 


AN  EDUCATION 


were  brimming  with  the  glory  of  her  youth. 
He  followed  her,  without  speaking,  into  the 
car  behind.  There  were  only  half  a  dozen 
passengers  in  the  Pullman. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said  as  he  lingered  in 
the  aisle  at  the  end  of  her  section,  "I  want 
really  to  feel  that  way.  I  want  to  feel  that  I 
am  an  American  first  and  a  Bostonian  after 
ward.  And  I  believe  I  shall,  too,  with  your 
help  —  before  I  reach  the  Pac  —  the  Coast." 
And  the  smile  she  gave  him  was  worthy 
of  the  sacrifice  of  traditions  that  he  had 
made. 


The   Folly  of  Self-Communion 


VI.  THE  FOLLY  OF  SELF-COMMUNION 

HLONE  in  the  smoking  compartment, 
Harold  Mason  was  again  brought 
face  to  face  with  his  conscience.  For  twelve 
hours  he  had  forgotten  business,  had  forgot 
ten  the  heavy  old  man  who  at  that  moment, 
he  told  himself,  was  no  doubt  drumming  on 
the  arms  of  his  chair  with  his  pudgy  fingers 
and  wondering  if  his  son's  mind  was  where 
it  should  be — concentrated  on  a  solution  of 
the  Boston-Portland  Traction  problem. 

Had  his  mind  been  so  concentrated?  the 
young  man  asked  himself.  Glancing  up  he 
saw  his  face  reflected  in  the  wide  mirror 
above  the  leather  cushion  of  the  long  seat 
opposite.  The  eyes  in  the  reflection  gave 
him  a  scornful  look  and  fell.  After  a  mo 
ment  they  lifted  again  and  met  his  own. 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     •* 

"What  makes  me  such  a  fool?"  he  asked. 
It  was  himself  to  whom  he  put  the  question, 
but  that  other  him  in  the  mirror  moved  his 
lips  too,  questioningly,  and  in  the  eyes  there 
was  still  a  scornful  look. 

"I  should  think  you  'would  be  ashamed  of 
yourself,"  he  added,  disagreeably. 

And  then  up  between  himself  and  his  re 
flection  in  the  wide  mirror,  crept  Sibyl  An- 
struther's  face,  and  mocked  him.  His  mouth 
straightened  in  the  way  that,  quite  unknown 
to  himself,  had  pleased  his  father.  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  looked  out 
the  window.  For  a  space  he  counted  the  tele 
graph  poles.  That  was  easy,  but  when  he 
shifted  his  count  to  the  rushing  fence  posts, 
he  could  not,  for  the  life  of  him,  get  beyond 
sixteen,  though  he  began  as  far  ahead  as  he 
could  see  by  craning  his  neck.  The  process 
92 


SELF-COMMUNION 


served,  in  a  measure,  to  clear  his  mind,  and 
with  something  of  a  show  of  interest  he 
drew  out  a  long  seal-leather  pocketbook,. 
and  taking  therefrom  four  or  five  folded 
papers  spread  them  on  his  knee. 

There  was  MacDonald's  letter  to  the 
"Governor,"  which  had  followed  his  tele 
gram  and  explained  in  detail  Tompkins'  re 
fusal  to  leap  to  the  assistance  of  John  Mason. 
MacDonald  told  with  almost  boyish  frank 
ness  what  he  had  done;  how  he  had  placed 
before  the  man  Tompkins  all  the  plan  with 
its  infinite  possibilities  in  the  way  of  divi 
dends  ;  and  there  was  also,  between  the 
lines,  so  Harold  Mason  thought,  a  cry  for 
mercy  from  the  "Governor,"  a  mercy,  he 
told  himself,  that  would  not  be  shown. 

Then  there  was  Huber's  letter  outlining 
a  new  plan  of  procedure  that,  to  quote, 

93 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     •* 

"seems  to  me  irresistible,  and  cannot  result 
otherwise  than  in  success."  Huber  was  a 
*genius,  in  his  way.  He  it  was  who  had  con 
ceived  the  reorganization  of  "Electric 
Heater"  and  the  "dummy"  directorate. 
Small  wonder  he  sat  on  a  pedestal  in  the 
elder  Mason's  estimation,  and  the  young 
man  speculated  on  that  day  when  he  should 
step  into  Huber's  shoes  and  carry  on  the 
business  of  the  New  York  office  as  his  fath 
er's  active  man,  "on  the  firing  line,"  as 
Mason,  senior,  was  wont  to  characterize 
lower  Broadway  and  Wall  Street. 

"Gad!  The  possibilities,"  the  son  mut 
tered  as  he  folded  the  papers,  replaced  them 
in  the  book  and  slipped  it  back  into  his 
pocket.  They  were  infinite  assuredly,  and 
his  was  the  chance  to  realize  them.  But 
would  he?  He  exhaled  a  long  breath  that 

94 


SELF-COMMUNION 


ended  with  a  little  whistle.  Or,  would  he 
go  on  in  the  happy,  useless  way  of  so  many 
other  chaps  whose  fathers  had  made  their 
strike  and  who,  accordingly,  neither  needed, 
nor  desired,  to  carry  forward  the  work? 

There  was  Townsend,  for  instance;  his 
Governor  had  made  a  couple  of  millions, 
was  making  more  now;  would  die  leaving 
ten  of  them  no  doubt.  Of  course,  Townsend 
had  no  need  to  work;  but  he  might  at  least 
have  had  the  desire.  But  it  was  work  in  its 
way — inventing  social  diversions,  training 
for  a  golf  medal  and  winning  it,  and  driv 
ing  a  tandem ;  work  in  a  way,  no  doubt,  but 
a  useless  sort  of  work.  Why  didn't  he  write 
a  play,  or  a  novel,  or  short  stories  or  some 
thing — something  decent  and  Christian — 
and  Bostonian?  Simply  because  the  Town- 
send  ability,  the  Townsend  genius  ended 

95 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

with  "the  old  man."  Frankly,  Townsend 
seemed  to  give  promise  of  one  day  becom 
ing  the  founder  of  a  new  line,  a  line 
that,  in  its  origin,  would  be  useless  but  that 
after  five  generations  might  produce  an  able 
great-great  grandson. 

"I  wonder  if  it  would  help  if  I  were  to 
marry?" 

Mason  asked  the  question  bluntly  of  his 
reflection  and  waited  as  though  for  an  an 
swer. 

Given  to  mental  leaps  of  this  sort  and  self 
questioning  to  an  almost  abnormal  degree, 
Mason  deliberately  permitted  a  picture  to 
emerge,  take  shape  and  color  in  his  mind 
until  it  was  as  real  as  one  of  the  mural  paint 
ings  in  the  Boston  Public  Library. 

Would  they  live  in  apartments  or  take  a 
house  in  Brookline,  say?  An  apartment 


SELF-COMMUNION 


probably  would  be  better  at  the  start,  cosier 
and  altogether  nicer. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  bully  to  take  breakfast 
opposite  —  ." 

Sibyl  Anstruther's  face  crept  again  be 
tween  his  and  its  reflection  in  the  mirror, 
and  about  the  mouth  in  the  glass  appeared 
a  little,  happy  smile. 

And  she  would  pour  the  coffee.  That 
first  morning  how  exquisitely  charming 
it  would  be  to  hear  her  ask  —  "One  lump, 
dear,  or  two?" 

"Rot!" 

He  uttered  the  exclamation  aloud  and  sat 
upright  suddenly. 

If  Sibyl  Anstruther  had,  by  the  merest 
chance  in  the  world,  been  thrown  into  a 
train  with  him  for  a  journey  across  the  con 
tinent,  was  that  any  reason  why  he  should  sit 

97 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     * 

alone  in  the  smoking  compartment  and 
dream  dreams  of  her  pouring  his  coffee?  It 
was  not,  assuredly  it  was  not.  It  was  simply 
his  duty  to  be  as  nice  to  her  as  possible  on 
the  journey  and  in  the  end  to  see  her  re 
stored  to  the  arms  of  that  revered  Aunt  Jane. 

If  there  were  any  dreaming  to  be  done,  it 
should  be  about  Tompkins  and  the  Boston- 
Portland  Traction  situation  and  nothing 
else.  And  so,  with  this  brave  determination, 
he  went  forward  and  flung  himself  into  the 
seat  opposite  her  without  even  asking  if  he 
might.  But  she  did  not  reprove  him.  Put 
ting  down  her  magazine,  she  looked  across 
at  him  and  said:  "Well,  have  you  been 
thinking  over  what  I  told  you?" 

"I've  been  thinking  of  a  lot  of  things,"  he 
replied,  and  deliberately  avoided  her  in 
quiring  eyes. 


West  and  East 


VII.  WEST  AND  EAST 

IF  SIBYL  ANSTRUTHER  was  con 
scious  of  Mason's  change  of  heart,  or 
aware  of  his  diminished  zeal,  she  showed 
no  sign  of  displeasure,  on  the  contrary  she 
seemed  to  gain  in  gaiety  what  he  appeared 
to  have  lost  in  enthusiasm. 

"I  am  afraid  I  shall  be  very  much  bored 
tomorrow,"  he  said,  after  a  space. 

"Bored  I"  she  exclaimed.  "Bored  by  Chi 
cago!  How  funny!" 

"Shan't  I,  then?"  he  inquired,  and  his 
smile  was  rather  pale.  Why  had  Heaven 
given  her  such  eyes  and  then  placed  him 
where  he  must  of  necessity  look  into  them? 
he  asked  himself. 

"Assuredly  you  shall  not,"  she  declared. 
"I  can  imagine  many  things  happening  to 
101 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     •* 

you ;  I  can  imagine  you  walking  too  close  to 
the  Lake  and  falling  in ;  I  can  imagine  you 
hurled  off  into  space  from  a  swinging 
bridge,  though  if  you  landed  on  the  river — 
there's  a  paradox — you  could  walk  ashore, 
as  the  rats  do.  Or,  I  can  imagine  you  being 
eaten  by  a  Polar  bear  out  at  Lincoln  Park, 
or  buried  alive  in  Evanston,  or  struck  by  a 
'grip'  car  on  State  Street — but  as  for  being 
bored;  never!" 

"If  all  those  things  should  happen  to  me, 
I  shouldn't  be,  surely.  But  I  dare  say  none 
of  them  will,"  he  added  sadly. 

"No,  I'm  afraid  not;  I  mean  I  hope  not," 
she  added  hastily,  meeting  his  look  of  sur 
prise. 

"Chicago  interests  you  then?"  he  in 
quired. 

"Oh,  yes;  everything  interests  me  and 
1 02 


WEST  AND  EAST 


Chicago  is  everything — that  is  a  little  of 
everything.  You'll  say  so  yourself.  I 
shouldn't  care  to  live  there;  I  don't  think 
you  would  either.  Solid  as  it  really  is,  Chi 
cago  has  always  seemed  to  me  to  be  on  the 
eve  of  something — just  about  to  do  some 
thing — to  be  something,  manano,  as  the 
Mexicans  say." 

"I  know  that  means  'tomorrow,'  "  he  put 
in  quickly. 

She  nodded. 

"And  yet,  you  know,"  she  went  on,  "it  has 
done  a  lot.  It  has  done  greater  and  finer 
things  in  its  short  life  than  any  other  city  in 
the  world.  It  has  made  itself  — ." 

"I  knew  a  few  Chicago  chaps  when  I  was 

in  college,"  he  said.    "One  in  particular  I 

recall.     We   used   to   call   him   Tiggy' — 

Tiggy'  Gleason.    His  father  was  in  lard  or 

103 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     **     * 

butter,  or  greasy  stuff  of  some  sort.  Piggy 
looked  it,"  he  chuckled. 

"And  what  became  of  him?"  she  asked. 

"I  was  told  by  one  of  the  old  fellows,  he 
had  made  a  lot  of  money  in  the  Klondike." 

Miss  Anstruther  nodded. 

"Of  course,  he  did,"  she  exclaimed. 
"That's  the  Chicago  way.  Chicago  is  one 
great,  throbbing  symbol  of  money;  its 
money  is  the  magic  of  Chicago.  When  I 
first  visited  there,  I  thought  it  was  money 
that  I  smelled  in  the  air  until  my  friends 
told  me  it  was  the  stock  yards."  She  was 
very  serious,  but  Mason  laughed. 

"It's  quite  the  proper  thing  for  all  the 
rest  of  the  country  to  poke  fun  at  Chicago, 
isn't  it?"  he  said. 

"Yes,  it  is.  Chicago  is  like  a  great  sleep 
ing  bear  that  the  little  careless  children  poke 
104 


WEST  AND  EAST 


with  sticks  through  the  grating  of  the  pit. 
And  the  bear  only  smiles,  for  the  sticks 
tickle.  But  do  you  know"  —  she  leaned  for 
ward  and  spoke  with  something  of  her 
former  eagerness  —  "Chicago  is  splendid;  it 
is  Titanic.  It  will  oppress  you;  you  will 
feel  yourself  whirled  into  the  tremendous 
seething  maelstrom  of  its  streets.  It  is 
alive." 

"Very  much,  from  all  I've  heard," 
Mason  observed  suggestively. 

He  was  recalling  a  little  incident  in  his 
father's  career  wherein  the  elder  Mason  and 
his  Eastern  associates  had  been  sadly 
worsted  in  a  "land  deal"  south  of  the  present 
City  by  the  Lake. 

"In  the  train  going  West,  last  year,"  Miss 
Anstruther  ran  on,  "I  chanced  to  overhear 
a  man  from  Philadelphia  and  a  Chicago 
105 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     ^ 

man  talking.  The  Philadelphian  had 
poked  fun  at  the  Chicagoan  for  quite  a  few 
minutes.  Finally  the  man  from  Chicago 
could  stand  it  no  longer.  Why,  do  you 
realize,'  he  said,  (that  if  some  tremendous 
catastrophe  were  to  demolish  all  the  large 
cities  in  America  but  Chicago,  the  world 
would  have  lost  none  of  its  greatest  things? 
for  all  that  is  good,  and  all  that  is  great,  and 
all  that  is  splendid  in  America  would  be  left 
in  Chicago,  for  the  simple  reason  that  Chi 
cago  has  now  everything  that  is  worth  while 
on  the  continent,  and  would  have  then/  The 
Philadelphian  looked  at  him,  rather  dazed 
for  a  minute,  then  replied — 'No,  there's  one 
thing  it  wouldn't  have.  It  wouldn't  have 
Philadelphia.'  'You're  right,  it  wouldn't,' 
exclaimed  the  Chicagoan,  'and  God  be 
praised  1' 

1 06 


WEST  AND  EAST 


"Every  one  in  the  car  had  overheard  them 
and  we  were  all  expecting  an  out-and-out 
quarrel.  But  none  occurred.  The  Chi 
cago  man  gave  his  opponent  a  cigar  and 
they  went  back  into  the  smoking  compart 
ment,  as  radiant  as  a  couple  of  children." 

Mason  laughed.  "And  all  that  goes  to 
show  —  "  he  began. 

"That  it  is  very  foolish  to  argue  with  a 
man  from  Chicago!"  Miss  Anstruther  fin 
ished. 

The  transfer  agent  came  through  the  car 
just  then,  jingling  a  quantity  of  checks  from 
a  huge  brass  ring  on  his  arm.  Miss  An 
struther  caught  his  glance.  She  explained 
to  him  her  own  checks  ;  that  the  bag  should 
be  sent  that  night  to  the  Virginia,  the  rest 
of  her  baggage  to  the  Dearborn  Street  Sta 
tion. 

107 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     * 

"And  where  are  you  stopping?"  she  in 
quired  of  Mason,  as  the  transfer  agent 
lurched  on  up  the  aisle. 

"The  Auditorium,"  he  replied,  "but  I 
shall  drive  out  to  your  hotel  with  you  first, 
if  you  will  permit  me." 

She  thanked  him,  at  the  same  time  pro 
testing  that  it  was  quite  unnecessary. 

"I  shan't  be  at  all  afraid,"  she  said. 

"But  I  shall  be  for  you,"  he  replied— 
"and  from  what  I  have  heard  of  Chicago 
I'd  rather,  really.  Who  knows;  your  cab 
might  be  held  up,  or  you  might  be  seized 
and  carried  to  some  cave  and  there  held  for 
ransom.  No,  I  shall  drive  with  you." 

"Very  well,"  she  agreed. 

His  shoulders  were  broad,  and  he  would 
be  a  fair  match  for  the  average  Chicago 
robber,  she  thought. 

108 


WEST  AND  EAST 


"And  perhaps,  if  you  will  let  me,  I  shall 
call  at  the — what  is  it,  'Virginia'?" — she 
nodded — "in  the  morning." 

"Yes,  do — say  at  half  past  ten.  And  if 
you're  nice  and  agreeable,  I'll  act  as  your 
guide.  For  you  know  it  is  all  a  part  of  that 
supplementary  education."  Her  eyes  were 
mocking  him  again  and  he  let  his  own  fall. 

So  it  was  that  they  were  driven,  side  by 
side  in  a  hansom,  from  the  Twelfth  Street 
Station,  down  Michigan  Boulevard,  across 
to  the  North  Side,  where  at  the  entrance  to 
the  Virginia,  he  bade  her  good  night. 

"It  is  only  by  way  of  being  decent,"  he 
told  himself  as  he  leaned  back  in  the  cab, 
which  rumbled  off  down  the  street  the  way 
it  had  come. 

Over  the  horse's  back,  and  ahead,  between 
his  pointed  ears,  Mason  peered  down  the 
109 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

glittering  canyon  of  the  city  streets.  The 
cab  lurched  from  side  to  side;  his  head 
seemed  in  imminent  and  momentary  danger 
of  crashing  through  the  side  glasses. 

"So  this  is  Chicago,  is  it?"  he  growled  to 
himself — "well,  I  can't  say  that  I  like  it — 
yet." 

Lacking  the  compactness  with  which  he 
was  familiar,  the  huge  lobby  of  the  Auditor 
ium  Hotel  attracted  him  none  the  less.  It 
was  brilliant  with  many  lights,  and  clamor 
ous  with  the  footfalls  of  many  hurrying  peo- 
pie. 

No  one  appeared  to  be  idling.  Men  in 
evening  clothes — dinner  coats  and  straw  or 
gray  felt  hats,  rushed  up  to  the  desk,  ex 
changed  a  phrase  with  the  official  there  on 
duty  and  hurried  away  again.  A  huge  tour 
ing  car  came  to  a  chugging  standstill  at  the 
no 


WEST  AND  EAST      •*      ^      *      •* 

curb  at  the  entrance  and  a  man  and  woman 
alighted.  She  was  a  large  woman  with  a 
contour  like  that  of  a  lyre,  while  her  com 
panion  was  small,  frail  and  bent.  Dia 
monds  flashed  in  her  ears  and  her  bare 
hands  were  crusted  with  twinkling  gems. 
Mason  smiled  the  smile  of  a  suffering  Bos- 
tonian  with  a  Puritan  ancestry.  He  glanced 
into  the  Pompeiian  room  where  a  throng  of 
men  and  women  were  clamorously  eating. 
Only  the  silently  moving  waiters  reminded 
him  of  home ;  for  all  else  he  might  have  been 
in  a  foreign  city.  He  had  heard  that  in 
Vienna  people  mostly  dress  and  eat,  and  he 
thought  Vienna  and  Chicago  must  be  very 
like.  With  the  traditions  of  Young's  and 
the  Touraine  big  in  his  mind  he  shivered. 
He  began  to  fear  he  might  induce  a  head 
ache  were  he  to  loiter  longer  in  this  great 
in 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     •* 

marble  rendezvous  of  a  people  who  made 
even  of  their  dining  a  matter  of  business.  So 
he  asked  that  a  boy  might  conduct  him 
aloft. 

In  his  room,  he  settled  himself  to  examine 
the  late  edition  of  an  evening  paper.  The 
news  was  unimportant.  He  turned  to  that 
page  headed  "The  Markets,"  which  to  the 
uninitiated  bears  a  striking  resemblance  to 
the  puzzle  sheet  of  a  London  weekly.  There 
was  a  long  letter  from  New  York;  another 
from  Boston.  Consolidated  Copper  had 
moved  up  two  points,  he  noted;  Bay  State 
Gas  was  down  a  point.  Sugar  looked  well; 
General  Electric  better.  But  in  these  things 
his  interest  was  not  vital.  Had  a  bell  boy 
come  upon  him  unobserved  a  few  moments 
later,  he  would  have  seen  the  paper  lying  on 
his  knees,  while  he  stared  at  a  corner  of  the 
112 


WEST  AND  EAST 


rug  with  an  ominous  fixity  of  gaze.    Lifting 
his  eyes  to  the  molding  that  ran  across  the 
room  at  the  edge  of  the  frieze,  he  muttered, 
"By  Jove,  she's  pretty,  anyway!" 
Then  he  went  to  bed. 


The  Spirit  of  Chicago 


VIII.  THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHICAGO 


ANSTRUTHER  was  awaiting 
him  when,  at  ten  o'clock  the  follow 
ing  morning,  he  arrived  at  her  hotel. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "I  am  about  to 
do  a  thing  that  you  will  resent  —  and  I  can't 
say  that  I  shall  blame  you." 

"And  that  is?"  he  suggested. 

"I  am  going  to  shop." 

He  laughed. 

"And  I  shall  carry  the  parcels,"  he  de~ 
clared.  "Oh,  I've  done  it  before  —  lots  of 
times  ;  not  in  Chicago,  of  course,  but  in  Bos- 
ton.  It's  rather  interesting  to  be  taken  for 
a  shoplifter  by  the  dignified  floorwalker, 
as  one  waits  at  the  —  glove  counter,  say." 

"Come,    then,"    Miss    Anstruther    com 
manded,  and  they  left  the  hotel  together. 
117 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     * 

She  was  wearing  a  little  camera  slung  by  a 
strap  from  her  shoulder  and  the  appearance 
she  presented,  accordingly,  was  that  of  the 
typical  tourist,  if,  indeed,  the  typical  tourist 
be  as  pretty  as  she. 

As  for  Mason,  he  assured  himself  again 
and  again  that  she  was  even  prettier  today 
than  she  had  appeared  on  the  river  ferry 
when  the  wind  loosened  her  hair  and 
cast  a  vagrant  strand,  as  soft  as  silk,  against 
her  cheek. 

"Shan't  we  ride?"  he  inquired,  not  that 
he  wished  to,  and  her  reply  was  agreeable 
to  him. 

"By  no  means,"  she  said.  "We  shall  walk 
— it's  not  far,  really.  Besides  I  want  you  to 
see  all  of  Chicago  that  you  possibly  can  in 
the  short  time  given  you." 

He  had  no  sort  of  interest  in  the  residen- 
118 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHICAGO   ^  *•  * 

tial  streets  through  which  she  guided  him. 
A  breeze  was  blowing  fresh  from  the  Lake 
and  he  spoke  of  the  coolness  of  the  morning. 

"It  is  for  you,"  she  said.  "Usually  it  is  hot 
in  Chicago  in  July.  Indeed,  one  may  have 
ten  climates  here  in  as  many  hours.  When 
the  wind  blows  from  the  Lake  all  it  lacks  is 
the  tang  of  the  salt  to  make  one  believe  the 
ocean  is  close  by.  But  when  it  veers  about 
and  comes  from  the  stockyards — "She  shiv 
ered.  "Really  you  ought  to  visit  the  stock 
yards,"  she  added,  looking  up  at  him; 
"everyone  does." 

"I  shall  try  to  bear  up  without,"  he  re 
plied,  and  she  laughed. 

In  State  Street  his  interest  in  his  immed 
iate  surroundings  awoke.  At  ten  o'clock  in 
the  morning  of  a  mid-week  day  State  Street 
is  the  busiest  commercial  thoroughfare  in 
119 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     •* 

the  world.  Compared  to  it,  Washington 
Street,  Chestnut  Street,  or  even  Broadway 
at  that  hour,  are  deserted  country  lanes. 
Down  the  avenue,  as  he  viewed  it  when  they 
crossed  to  the  east  side,  moved  thousands, 
swiftly,  intently. 

"What  time  do  all  these  people  get  up?" 
Mason  inquired. 

"I  dare  say  many  of  them  are  always 
'up,'  "  Miss  Anstruther  replied.  "As  for 
the  others,  they  have  been  at  it  since  eight 
o'clock." 

"Nine  is  early  back  East,  and  I'm  told 
ten  is  the  hour  in  London." 

"But  this,  you  know,  is  Chicago,"  was  the 
reply.  "And  do  you  suppose  these  people 
could  have  built  this  great  city  since  1875 — 
when  the  cow  kicked  over  the  lamp — if  it 
were  their  custom  to  get  up  at  ten,"  she  in- 
120 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHICAGO  ^  *  * 

quired,  "or  even  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing?" 

"I  dare  say  not,"  Mason  agreed. 

"It  has  always  seemed  to  me,"  Miss  An- 
struther  went  on,  "that  Mrs.  O'Leary's  cow 
put  Chicago  to  the  greatest  test  ever  given 
our  civilization.  And  Chicago  accepted  the 
challenge.  The  results  are  all  about  you." 

"I  never  thought  of  it  in  that  way,"  he 
confessed. 

"You  mean  you  never  thought  of  it  at 
all,"  she  impertinently  replied. 

"Now  if  Mrs.  O'Leary  had  been  living  in 
Philadelphia,  for  instance,  and  her  cow  had 
been  a  Quaker  bovine,  the  railways  would 
still  be  running  excursions  into  the  city  so 
that  the  sight-seers  might  view  the  devasta 
tion  and  collect  bits  of  melted  glass  — ." 

"Oh,  I  say!"  Mason  protested. 

121 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     ^ 

"No,"  she  insisted,  "Chicago's  spirit  is  all 
its  own.  No  other  city  in  America  has  it; 
at  least,  not  in  the  same  degree.  'Frisco 
might  have  developed  it  if  it  had  been  left 
to  itself,  that  is,  if  it  had  remained  absolute 
ly  American.  But  it  couldn't.  The  Orien 
tal,  the  Asiatic,  influence  came  in  and  the 
people  succumbed.  San  Francisco,"  she  de 
clared  frankly,  "is  the  most  fascinating  city 
in  America,  and,  I  believe,  the  wickedest." 

"Fascinating  because  it  is  wicked?"  he  in 
quired. 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  shouldn't  like  to 
confess  to  that  belief,"  she  replied.  "But 
any  city  so  situated  that  the  East  and  West 
meet  within  it,  is  rather  likely  to  be  bad." 

"That  sounds  familiar,"  Mason  ex 
claimed.  "My  old  professor  in  sociology 
used  to  say  the  same  thing." 

122 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHICAGO   ^  *  * 

"Probably  he  gathered  his  data  in  San 
Francisco,"  she  suggested.  "And  now  here 
we  are!"  she  exclaimed  at  the  arched  en 
trance  of  a  great  department  store.  "You 
may  wait  here  for  me  or  come  in,  as  you  pre 
fer;  I  shan't  be  long." 

"I  shall  wait  here;  please  don't  hurry,  I 
do  not  mind  waiting,"  he  assured  her. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  she  was  gone  but  a 
moment  and  when  she  joined  him  he  said : 

"I  have  felt  like  that  aged  farmer  of 
whom  I  once  read  in  Life.  He  stood  in  a 
city  doorway  for  hours  and  when  asked  by  a 
policeman  his  reason  for  so  doing,  replied 
that  he  was  waiting  for  the  procession  to 
pass.  And  the  odd  thing  about  it,"  he 
added,  "is  that  all  these  people  appear  to 
know  precisely  what  they  are  about." 

"Assuredly  they  do,"  Miss  Anstruther 
123 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     ** 

declared.  "From  the  moment  they  awake 
in  the  morning  until  their  heads  touch  the 
pillows  at  night  they  are  busy.  They  even 
make  eating  a  matter  of  business." 

"I've  already  observed  that,"  Mason  re 
plied,  recalling  his  late  supper  of  the  night 
before. 

"But  it's  more  clearly  to  be  seen  at  noon," 
Miss  Anstruther  said.  "I  am  told  that  Chi 
cago  supports  more  'dairy  lunch'  places 
than  any  other  city  in  the  world." 

"Pie  and  milk?" 

She  nodded. 

"That  doubtless  accounts  for  the  hurry 
ing  throngs  here — people  are  trying  to  get 
away  from  dyspepsia.  Physical  activity  is 
said  to  be  a  preventive." 

They  lunched  in  the  fantastic  grill  room 
of  another  famous  department  store. 
124 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHICAGO   •*•  *  * 

Several  hundred  tired-faced  women  sat  at 
a  multitude  of  little  tables.  A  casual  survey 
of  the  dishes  before  them  informed  Mason 
that  ices  and  salads  constituted  the  mid-day 
diet  of  Chicago's  shopping  femininity. 

The  half-sentences  of  conversation  that 
were  carried  to  him  were  concerned  with  a 
single  subject — fabrics. 

"They  are  all  of  the  remnant  army,"  Miss 
Anstruther  informed  him — "the  bargain- 
counter-attacking  cohorts." 

"So  I  should  infer,"  he  agreed.  "But 
how  they  stand  the  strain  on  nothing  more 
substantial  than  salad  is  the  mystery." 

After  luncheon  Miss  Anstruther  pro 
posed  that  they  go  out  to  Lincoln  Park;  to 
which  Mason  was  quite  agreeable. 

It  was  his  first  experience  of  the  North 
Clark  Street  cable  and  he  breathed  a  sigh 
125 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     ^ 

of  relief  when  his  feet  touched  the  earth 
again.  He  had  insisted  on  carrying  the 
camera,  together  with  the  three  small  par 
cels  that  represented  Miss  Anstruther's  pur 
chases.  He  looked  like  an  undergraduate 
and  she  was  bold  to  tell  him  so.  However, 
he  "snapped"  the  Polar  bear  and  a  superb 
Bengal  tiger  at  her  request  and  otherwise 
conducted  himself  as  a  tourist  will,  though 
not  as  a  man  upon  whose  shoulders  rests  a 
burden  such  as  that  of  the  Boston-Portland 
Traction  deal  resting  upon  his  own.  How 
ever,  as  she  informed  him,  it  was  a  part  of 
the  promised  education  and  therefore  was  to 
be  borne  smilingly. 

He  was  very  tired  when  he  reached  the 

hotel  at  six  o'clock.     Miss  Anstruther  had 

cheerily,  but  firmly,  declined  his  invitation 

to  dinner  and  also  his  offer  to  drive  out  to 

126 


A    PART   OF   THE    PROMISED   EDUCATION 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHICAGO   ^  ^  * 

the  Virginia  for  her.  At  the  desk,  he  was 
given  a  telegram  from  his  father.  Tomp- 
kins'  secretary  had  wired  that  Tompkins 
was  in  Southern  California  for  a  fortnight, 
and  Mason,  senior's,  wire  to  his  son  told  him 
to  take  his  time  and  see  something  of  the 
country.  The  young  man's  eyes  flashed. 
He  would  stay  on  in  Chicago  and  allow 
Miss  Anstruther  to  proceed  alone.  Yes,  it 
would  be  best,  by  far  best,  he  assured  him 
self.  He  had  sent  his  baggage  to  the  sta 
tion  earlier  in  the  day.  He  would  drive 
there  now  and  meet  her  and  tell  her  of  the 
change  in  his  plans.  It  was  quite  the  proper 
thing  under  the  circumstances,  he  assured 
himself,  as  his  hansom  rumbled  away.  And 
it  was  the  safest  thing  to  do,  as  well.  He  had 
worked  it  all  out  as  he  sat  beside  her  under 
a  tree  in  the  park  that  afternoon  while  she 
127 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     ^ 

ran  on  to  him  concerning  her  own  Chicago 
experiences.  He  had  thus  far  been  "de 
cent"  to  her,  perhaps  a  little  more  than  de 
cent  but — 

He  came  upon  her  at  the  wicket  of  the 
Pullman  office  hi  the  Dearborn  Street  Sta 
tion. 

"Oh,  Miss  Anstruther,"  he  began. 

She  turned,  smiling,  and  on  the  bag  at 
her  feet  he  saw  a  great  bunch  of  splendid 
roses.  She  followed  his  gaze  to  them. 

"Wasn't  it  thoughtful?"  she  said,  "Mr. 
Townsend  ordered  them  for  me  by  wire. 
Wasn't  it  dear  of  him — and  then,  too,  my 
New  York  aunt  forwarded  a  wire  to  me 
from  'Frisco  saying  that  I  may  take  my  time 
as  the  sailing  has  been  postponed  a  week. — 
Isn't  it  jolly?  I  mean  to  visit  the  Grand 
Canyon  again  — ." 

128 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHICAGO   •*  ^   * 

She  had  run  on  quite  heedlessly.  Mean 
time,  he  had  done  much  thinking. 

Townsend!  Gad,  had  Townsend  gone 
so  far  as  to  call  the  wire  to  his  assistance? 
It  would  be  a  bore  loafing  in  Chicago  two 
days,  anyway. 

"And  Mr.  Mason,  won't  you  take  the 
flowers,  please,  and  have  the  porter  care  for 
them?"  She  turned  away  an  instant  and  did 
not  see  his  scowl  as  he  stooped  for  them. 

"Please  wait  till  I  look  up  my  luggage," 
he  said,  and  walked  away  carrying  Town- 
send's  roses. 


129 


A   Conscience   Strained 


IX.  A  CONSCIENCE  STRAINED 

XN  ONE  hand  Mason  carried  his  alli 
gator  bag;  in  the  other,  securely 
gripping  their  long,  green  stems,  Town- 
send's  splendid  roses.  Returning  from  the 
baggage  room,  he  glanced  down  at  the  blos 
soms  and  scowled  darkly.  Miss  Anstruther 
was  waiting  for  him  beside  the  gateman's 
little  peaked-roof  sentinel  box. 

"Let  me  take  the  flowers,  please,"  she 
said.  "You've  enough  to  carry  without 
them  — ." 

"So  have  you,"  he  answered,  "besides  I 
like  to  carry  them;  I — I'm  very  fond  of 
flowers." 

Miss  Anstruther  turned  to  the  gate  as  he 
spoke,  and  he  could  not  see  the  faint  smile 
that  swept  across  her  dancing  eyes ;  nor  did 
133 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     •* 

she  perceive  the  vicious  grip  he  gave  the 
roses'  long,  green  stems,  nor  hear  the  angry 
gritting  of  his  teeth. 

The  long  train  lay  still  and  dark,  save  for 
the  lights  at  the  various  platforms  where 
stood  the  porters  guarding  their  little  car 
pet-covered  stools.  At  the  forward  plat 
form  of  the  rear  car,  as  Mason  and  Miss  An- 
struther  approached,  stood  the  Pullman 
conductor,  with  a  white-coated  porter  near 
by. 

"Bride  and  groom,  Pete,"  muttered  the 
conductor  from  the  corner  of  his  red-mus- 
tached  mouth. 

Pete  laughed,  but  the  suave  conductor 
was  speedily  disillusioned  when  Miss  An- 
struther  presented  her  ticket  for  a  section  to 
Williams,  Arizona,  and  Mason  presented  a 
ticket  for  quite  another  section  separated  by 

134 


HE  CAME  UPON  HER  AT  THE  PULLMAN  OFFICE 


A  CONSCIENCE  STRAINED    ^    * 

nearly  the  car's  length,  straight  through  to 
San  Francisco.  The  conductor  exchanged 
a  glance  with  the  porter  and  that  dignitary 
grinned  understandingly  as  he  seized  the 
bags  of  the  traveling  twain  and  led  the  way 
into  the  dim-lit  car. 

There  was  yet  fifteen  minutes  before  the 
train  was  due  to  leave,  and  Mason  returned 
to  the  platform  for  a  last  cigarette  before  re 
tiring  to  his  berth.  Miss  Anstruther  joined 
him  shortly  and  together  they  strolled  up 
and  down  the  length  of  the  long  train. 

There  is  something  of  drama  in  the  de 
parture  of  a  trans-continental  train.  To  the 
man  or  woman  who  would  reach  the  Pacific 
Coast,  it  is  the  flying  house  of  five  days. 
One  places  one's  life,  one's  destiny,  perhaps, 
in  the  hands  of  a  grimy  man  in  light  blue 
overalls,  who  sits  in  the  window  of  the  loco- 
135 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

motive  cab  and  gazes  calmly  off  ahead  along 
two  parallel  bars  of  steel. 

They  stopped  at  the  engine  and  stood 
there  regarding  it  in  silence  a  space. 

"That's  a  ripping  big  locomotive,"  Mason 
said,  flicking  the  ash  from  his  cigarette. 

Miss  Anstruther  looked  up  at  htm  and 
smiled.  "See,"  she  whispered,  "there's  the 
engineer." 

He  came  around  the  pilot  from  the  other 
side,  a  smoking,  flaring  kerosene  torch  in 
one  hand,  in  the  other  a  fat,  slim-necked  oil 
can.  He  was  humming  a  little  tune  to  him 
self,  softly.  Discovering  a  multitude  of 
holes  about  the  gigantic  wheels  and  tubes  of 
the  great,  gleaming  monster,  whose  trainer 
and  exhibitor  he  was,  he  thrust  the  thin  nose 
of  the  odd-shaped  oil  can  here  and  there  and 
tilted  it.  And  all  the  time  he  hummed 

136 


A  CONSCIENCE  STRAINED    •*    ^ 

softly  to  himself  that  little  tune.  He  set  his 
sputtering  light  on  the  shelf  running  the 
length  of  the  big,  lustrous  boiler  and  seizing 
a  handful  of  cotton  waste,  wiped  here  and 
there,  and  he  did  it  as  gently  and  as  care 
fully — yes,  as  lovingly — as  a  young  mother 
bathes  the  face  of  her  crooning  babe. 

"See,  there  are  fourteen  wheels,"  Miss 
Anstruther  said. 

The  engineer  looked  up. 

"Them  little  ones  there  under  the  pilot 
are  somethin'  new,"  he  said,  pridefully. 
"They  keep  her  a  mite  steadier  — ." 

They  approached  him  where  he  stood 
close  to  his  toy.  The  light  of  the  lamp  cast 
queer,  flickering  shadows  on  his  sooty  face, 
and  beneath  the  grime  which  was  not  suffi 
cient  quite  to  hide  the  cheeriness  of  the 
countenance,  they  saw  the  lines  of  middle 

137 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

age.  They  were  not  hard,  tense  lines,  such 
as  one  might  have  expected  them  to  be.  On 
the  contrary,  they  were  strangely  soft  and 
melting;  and  in  the  point  of  the  chin  was 
a  dimple. 

"Do  you  mind  telling  me  how  fast  this 
engine  can  pull  such  a  train?"  Mason  in 
quired  curiously. 

The  engineer  smiled  and  took  down  his 
oil  can  from  the  shelf. 

"How  fast?  Oh,  I've  hit  her  off  on  my 
old  run,  out'n  th'  desert,  seventy-six  miles 
an  hour  an'  kep'  t'  th'  iron."  He  said  it 
simply. 

"Seventy-six  miles  an  hour,"  Mason  mur 
mured,  as  his  eyes  and  Miss  Anstruther's 
met. 

"Course  that  ain't  th'  limit,"  the  engineer 
added.  "What  she  could  do,  I  don't  know; 

138 


A  CONSCIENCE  STRAINED    ^    * 

a  hundred  mebbe.  I  ain't  ever  thrown  her 
wide  open;  it  ain't  never  been  necessary.  I 
hit  her  up  to  seventy-five  a  few  years  ago, 
gettin'  away  from  a  cloud  burst  west  of  Ash 
Fork;  that's  'bout  as  fast  as  I've  ever  made 
her  go  on  this  — ." 

"I  should  say  that  was  quite  fast  enough," 
Miss  Anstruther  declared. 

"Quite,"  Mason  agreed.  "A  little  too 
fast,  I  should  say." 

The  engineer  extinguished  the  torch  as 
his  fireman's  face  appeared  in  the  window 
of  the  cab  above  their  heads. 

"All  right,  Charley?"  he  asked.  He  took 
out  a  silver  watch  and  regarded  the  dial. 

"Yep  — ,"  answered  the  fireman. 

"Guess  you'd  better  get  aboard.  We're 
leavin'  in  thirty-five  seconds,"  said  the  en 
gineer,  and  smiled.  They  saw  him  swing 
139 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^ 

himself  up  to  the  cab.  The  light  struck  the 
brass  grip  of  the  great  throttle  and  glinted. 
Down  the  long  platform  the  conductor  was 
calling,  "All  aboard."  A  few  belated 
"tourists"  stumbled  on,  laden  like  pack 
mules  with  their  heavy  and  voluminous 
hand  baggage.  Mason  followed  Miss  An- 
struther  into  the  car. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Mason,"  she  exclaimed  sudden 
ly, — "my  roses.  I'd  forgotten  them." 

"The  porter  has  them,"  he  told  her. 

"Thank  you  so  much,"  she  smiled  up  at 
him. 

"Good  night." 

"Good  night." 

Townsend's  roses !    Great  heavens,  he  had 

more  than  half  forgotten  Townsend ;  at  least 

had  ceased  to  consider  him  a  factor  in  this 

little  problem  of  hearts.    And  now  he  had 

140 


A  CONSCIENCE  STRAINED    ^    * 

called  the  wire  to  his  service.  Mason  lay 
in  his  berth  a  long  time  trying  to  "reason  it 
all  out,"  as  he  told  himself. 

That  Townsend  thought  seriously  of 
Sibyl  Anstruther,  the  presence  of  the  roses 
in  a  tin  pail,  provided  by  the  porter,  proved. 
That  he  thought  very  seriously  of  her  was 
further  proved  by  the  fact  that  he  had  wired 
to  Chicago  for  them. 

"And  yet  here  am  I,"  Mason  said  to  him 
self,  "on  the  spot." 

Then  he  remembered  how  he  had  prom 
ised  his  conscience  that  he  would  only  be 
decent  to  Miss  Anstruther.  Why  had  he 
not  stopped  over  in  Chicago  as  he  had 
planned?  Certainly  it  would  have  been 
better,  far  better.  Why  hadn't  he?  He  lay 
on  his  back  in  his  blue  Japanese  silk  pa 
jamas  and  gazed  at  a  ray  of  the  Pinsch  light 
141 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     * 

that  filtered  through  the  chink  of  the  berth 
curtains.  He  had  bought  the  whole  section, 
so  the  upper  berth  was  not  made-up,  and 
now  he  drew  himself  to  a  sitting  position 
and  with  his  eyes  still  fixed  on  the  ray  of 
light  confessed: 

"It's  because  I  love  her;  I  do;  and  it  re 
quired  Townsend's  roses  to  show  me  how 
much."  The  confession  brought  him  a  little 
moment  of  elation  during  which  a  deep  sigh 
escaped  him.  "I  love  her,  I  love  her,  I  love 
her,"  he  murmured  over  and  over  again. 

Then  the  elation  was  dissipated  and  a 
frown  settled  upon  his  countenance. 

"But  Townsend;  how  about  Townsend?" 
he  questioned.  Could  it  be  that  there  was 
anything  between  them?  The  roses  might 
indicate  that  there  was ;  or  they  might  indi 
cate  Townsend's  own  feelings  merely. 
142 


A  CONSCIENCE  STRAINED    * 

Mason  wanted  to  play  fair.  If  Sibyl 
Anstruther  and  Townsend  were  engaged,  he 
wished  to  know  it.  His  course  in  any  such 
event  was  perfectly  clear.  But  if  they  were 
not,  he  would  go  in  to  win.  Could  he  win? 
Thus  far  she  had  shown  a  certain  pleasure 
in  his  society;  she  certainly  had  not  at 
tempted  to  hide  that.  But  was  it  any  more 
than  she  would  have  shown  in  the  society  of 
any  man  of  her  acquaintance  under  the  cir 
cumstances?  Certainty  and  doubt  clashed 
in  Hal  Mason's  mind  as  he  lay  in  his  berth 
gazing  at  the  ray  of  light  between  the  cur 
tains.  He  must  find  out.  He  must  find  out 
tomorrow,  he  told  himself.  "But  I  love 
you;  I  love  you,"  he  murmured  again  and 
again.  Then  he  fell  asleep  to  awake  amid 
the  clatter  and  clang  of  the  dilapidated 
Union  Station  at  Kansas  City. 

H3 


The  Education   Proceeds 


X.  THE  EDUCATION  PROCEEDS 

HE  SENT  back  a  wire  to  his  father  from 
Kansas  City  that  the  elder  Mason 
was  not  displeased  to  receive. 

"Shall  stop  over  at  the  Grand  Canyon 
two  days.  Bright  Angel  Hotel,"  was  all  the 
telegram  contained,  but  as  he  folded  it  and 
put  it  into  his  pocket,  Mason,  senior,  smiled 
and  muttered,  "It  will  do  him  good." 
Though  just  how  much  "good"  it  was  des 
tined  to  "do  him"  he  little  knew. 

Hal  breakfasted  with  Miss  Anstruther  in 
the  dining-car  and  in  a  carafe  between  them 
the  porter  had  arranged  Townsend's  gor 
geous  roses.  On  the  snowy  damask  cover  of 
the  little  table  lay  here  and  there  a  blood- 
red  petal  that  the  jar  of  the  train  had  suf 
ficed  to  loosen.  If  in  this  Mason  perceived 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

a  symbol  of  Townsend's  diminishing 
chances,  he  gave  no  sign. 

"I  thought  you  said  we  were  to  have  our 
meals  in  eating  houses,"  he  observed,  pre 
paring  his  fruit. 

"We  shall  after  we  pass  Marceline,"  she 
replied.  "This  car  is  dropped  off  there; 
then  ho,  for  the  deep  red  restaurants!" 

"I  think  I  shall  like  them  better,"  he  de 
cided.  "One  can  take  a  bit  of  exercise,  you 
know." 

"Of  course  you'll  like  them,"  she  made 
haste  to  declare.  "You  can't  help  it.  You 
get  such  good  things  to  eat.  It's  that  and 
the  Grand  Canyon  that  makes  me  take  this 
road  whenever  I  cross  the  continent." 

He  was  smiling  indulgently,  perhaps  a 
little  skeptically. 

"You  don't  believe  it?"  she  asked.  "Wait, 
148 


THE  EDUCATION  PROCEEDS  ^  ^ 

we'll  have  supper  at  Topeka.  Wait  till 
after  that,  and  you'll  see.  Why,  the  best 
baked  crab  I  ever  ate  in  my  life  I  had  one 
August  night  in  the  eating  house  at  the 
Needles.  And  the  thermometer  registered 
109  degrees." 

"A  baked  crab  in  a  temperature  of  109! 
Oh,  Miss  Anstruther,  I  say  I"  He  had  low 
ered  his  fork  and  was  gazing  into  her  eyes 
over  the  roses. 

"Truly,"  she  nodded,  "and  that  crab  had 
come  all  the  way  from  your  rock-ribbed 
coast  and  was  alive  when  he  reached  his  des 
tination  — ." 

"You're  joking!" 

"Wait,"  she  replied. 

She  confessed  to  herself  that  she  might 
be  mistaken  concerning  the  crab's  life,  but 
she  did  not  say  as  much.  She  consoled  her- 
149 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     ** 

self  with  the  thought  that  it  had  tasted  as 
good  as  any  she  had  ever  eaten  at  the  ocean 
side. 

After  breakfast  he  left  her  for  his  matu 
tinal  cigarette.  There  were  two  other  smok 
ers  in  the  compartment  and  they  made  room 
for  him  on  the  leather  divan  as  he  entered. 
One  of  them,  a  tall,  wiry  man  with  New 
England  chin  whiskers,  looked  up  and 
nodded  agreeably. 

"Well,  this  don't  look  much  like  bleedin' 
Kansas,  now  does  it?"  the  other  man  in 
quired,  turning  from  the  window.  He  was 
short  and  fat  and  good  nature  shone  from 
his  rubicund  face. 

"Kansas  quit  bleedin'  quite  a  spell  ago," 

the  tall  man  replied — "Greatest  state  in  the 

Union."    He  pulled  at  his  cigar.    "Loaned 

$30,000,000  to  Wall  Street  last  year" — an- 

150 


THE  EDUCATION  PROCEEDS  •*  ^: 

other  pull — "Every  mortgage  paid" — pull 
"farmers  ridin'  'round  in  autymobeels" — 
pull — "yes,  sir;  greatest  state  in  th'  Union 
— Coin'  to  bust  Standard  Oil  sure  as  there's 
a  God  in  Israel!" 

Mason  had  pricked  up  his  ears;  he  was 
interested  and  piqued  at  the  same  time.  His 
eyes  met  those  of  the  tall  man. 

"Live  back  East?"  the  latter  inquired. 

"Yes,  Boston  — ." 

''You  don't  say;  well  now!  Born  'n  New 
England  m'self — Vermont — Came  out  here 
when  I  got  my  eyes  open  though — " 

The  little  fat  man  laughed  and  winked  at 
Mason. 

''Like  it  better,  do  you?"  Mason  chanced. 

"Better!  Better!!  I  should  say!— I 
wouldn't  go  back  there  t'  visit  my  relatives 
'old  home  week/  even.  Ain't  nothin'  back 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

there  but  a  few  stone  fences,  a  Jersey  cow  er 
two,  an  occasional  sugar  bush,  and  Puritan 
traditions.  Ye  ain't  got  nawthin'  but  the 
last  in  Boston.  As  fer  me,  I'd  rather  have 
three  hundred  acres  o'  Kansas  soil  a-growin' 
corn  eighteen  foot  high  than  all  th'  Puritan 
traditions  in  New  England." 

Mason  laughed.  The  fat  man  shook  glee 
fully.  As  for  the  speaker  his  face  was  dead 
ly  serious  save  for  the  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

"That's  the  greatest  feature  of  your  part 
of  the  country,"  Mason  made  bold  to  say. 

"What,  th'  corn?" 

"No,  your  own  enthusiasm  — ." 

"Gosh,  that's  because  we've  got  something 
to  be  enthusiastic  over,"  the  tall  man  ex 
claimed.  "All  you  folks  have  got's  Faneuil 
Hall,  Old  South  'n'  that  overgrown  slate 
pencil  you  call  Bunker  Hill  Monument  1" 
152 


THE  EDUCATION  PROCEEDS  *•  * 

"And  yet  you  will  agree  that  all  the  pros 
perity  of  Kansas  has  been  made  possible  by 
the  infusion  of  New  England  stock,"  Mason 
ventured. 

The  slim  man  set  his  obviously  false  teeth. 

"Don't  throw  it  in  our  faces,  m'  boy,"  he 
said,  "we're  doin'  our  best  tryin'  t'  fergit  it. 
After  you've  run  around  a  leetle  out  here 
you'll  learn  we  don't  ask  a  stranger  if  his 
great  grandfather  was  one  of  the  fellers  that 
Paul  Revere  woke  up  as  he  rode  't'  spread 
th'  alarm,  through  every  Middlesex  village 
and  farm' — guess  that's  the  way  it  goes,  ain't 
it?"— 

Mason  nodded,  smiling. 

— "We  ask  him  what  he  can  do.  If  he 
can't  do  nawthin'  we  pass  him  out  t'  Ne- 
brasky,  where  he'll  haf  t'  work,  or  ship  him 
back  East  again  where  vittles  ain't  so  neces- 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

sary.  Nobody  west  o'  th'  Missouri's  got  any 
ancestry,"  he  added,  "and  if  they  have  they 
keep  it  quiet." 

Mason  rose,  laughing,  and  threw  away  his 
cigarette  end. 

"Come  out  here  among  us,  young  man, 
and  we'll  show  you  a  thing  or  two,"  the  tall 
man  called  after  him. 

Joining  Miss  Anstruther  he  told  her  of 
the  conversation,  or  rather  of  the  tall  Kan- 
san's  monologue,  laughing  as  he  did  so. 

"I'm  glad  you  laugh,"  she  said. 

"Why?"  he  asked,  wonderingly. 

"Because  I  think  it  is  a  sign  that  you  are 
beginning  to  understand." 

"Yes,  I  think  I  am,"  he  replied  frankly. 
"If  any  one  back  at  home  had  said  such 
things  to  me  I'd  have  resented  them,  deeply. 
It's  odd  I  don't  under  the  circumstances." 

154 


THE  EDUCATION  PROCEEDS  ^  ^ 

"It's  the  air,"  she  replied. 

"The  air?"  he  looked  puzzled. 

She  nodded.  "The  spirit  of  this  country 
is  in  the  air  itself  and  by  simply  breathing 
one  takes  it  into  one's  veins.  You'll  find  it 
the  same  all  the  way." 

"And  by  the  time  I  reach  San  Francisco 
I  shall  be  a  Westerner  in  spirit?" 

She  smiled.  "Perhaps  not.  A  sudden 
change  may  not  be  the  best  thing  in  the 
world,  you  know.  Plum  pudding  is  lots 
nicer  than  haggis,  but  the  Scot  wouldn't 
think  so  with  the  first  taste.  But  once 
weaned,  haggis  would  no  longer  tempt 
him." 

He  laughed.  "I  dare  say  you  could 
prove  to  me  that  the  moon  is  green  cheese, 
after  all,"  he  said. 

"I  like  to  think  it  is,"  she  replied. 

155 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     •* 

Afterward  they  went  out  on  the  rear  plat 
form  where  he  placed  a  little  stool  for  her. 
She  seated  herself  and  rested  her  arms  upon 
the  polished  rail.  He  stood  behind  and  a 
little  at  one  side,  his  own  arms  folded  across 
his  breast. 

"Perhaps  you'd  like  to  know,"  she  said 
after  a  bit,  "that,  that's  alfalfa  out  there." 

"Really,"  he  replied.  The  alfalfa  of 
Kansas  was  not  interesting  to  him  just  then, 
but  a  little  vagrant  curl  of  her  soft  hair  that 
the  breeze  tossed  over  her  pink  ear  'was, 
and  he  gazed  at  it  as  though  fascinated. 

"Yes,"  she  went  on,  quite  as  though  to  her 
self,  "but  it  is  not  so  good  as  the  alfalfa  that 
they  grow  down  in  the  Las  Cruces  Valley 
in  New  Mexico.  It  is  too  rank  here  in  Kan 
sas  and  the  cattle  can't  eat  it  all.  It  ought 
to  be  grown  under  irrigation  really — ." 

156 


THE  EDUCATION  PROCEEDS  *  * 
"Gad  I"  he  muttered  and  she  turned. 

• 

"What  is  it?"  she  exclaimed. 

"What  a  lot  you  know!" 

She  laughed  up  at  him. 

"I've  told  you  how  it  happens,"  she  said. 
"I've  been  keen  to  learn  all  I  could  about 
this  country  ever  since  I  first  began  to  know 
it.  There's  lots  out  here  I  could  show  you," 
she  went  on ;  "I'd  like  you  to  go  up  to  Salton 
in  Death  Valley,  where  they  plow  up  salt 
precisely  as  they  plow  up  a  wheat  field  back 
East.  I'd  like  you  to  see  the  marvelous 
mines  they  have  discovered  north  of  the 
Needles  where  gold  sticks  out  of  the  rocks 
like  wire,  and  I'd  like  you  to  go  up  to  old 
Santa  Fe  and  see  a  church  that,  so  far  as  age 
is  concerned,  makes  your  Old  South  and 
your  Plymouth  Rock  look  like  affairs  of  yes 
terday.  And  the  ancient  Talace,'  too, 
157 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

though  you'd  never  take  it  for  a  palace.  It 
has  witnessed  all  the  great  events  in  South 
western  history,  but  you,  back  East,  think  an 
old  gate  or  an  ancient  well  of  St.  Augustine 
much  more  interesting.  The  Spaniards 
came  up  here  you  know — not  here  exactly, 
but  into  Arizona,  long  before  the  Pilgrim 
fathers  set  foot  on  New  England  soil  or  be 
fore  Jamestown  was  settled.  If  you  had 
time,  I'd  like  you  to  visit  Laguna  and  Zuni 
and  Acoma  and  Oraibi.  There's  an  en 
chanted  mesa,  the  Indians  will  tell  you,  at 
Acoma,  and  a  moving  mountain  and  a  lot  of 
other  weird  things.  It  was  in  Arizona,  you 
know,  that  those  old  Spaniards  sought  the 
Seven  Cities  of  Cibola  that  the  Indians  had 
told  them  of — cities  whose  streets  were 
paved  with  gold  and  houses  roofed  with  sil 
ver — cities  that  possessed  riches  such  as  Pi- 

158 


THE  EDUCATION  PROCEEDS  *>  ^ 

zarro  never  dreamed  of  in  Peru.  Why, 
there  are  people  in  the  pueblos  of  Arizona 
whose  customs  and  religious  rites  are  so  an 
cient  that  the  rites  of  our  own  religion,  com 
pared  to  them,  are  as  new  as  Christian 
Science.  And  as  far  as  that  is  concerned,  the 
Hopi  Indians  have  practiced  what  we  call 
Christian  Science  for  a  thousand  years." 

Mason  had  listened  to  her  eagerly.  When 
he  spoke,  there  was  a  little  tremor  of  emo 
tion  in  his  voice. 

"Miss  Anstruther,"  he  said,  "it's  all  aw 
fully  interesting;  and  I  can't  tell  how  grate 
ful  I  am  to  you,  but  — ." 

"But  what?"  she  put  in. 

"You  make  me   feel  like   an  infant  in 


arms  — ." 


Laughing,  she  looked  up  at  him,  and  the 
light  in  her  eyes  was  dazzling.    He  could 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     ^ 

have  reached  out  both  his  arms,  taken  her  in 
them  and  held  her  close. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  feel  that  way,"  she 
said,  "but  I'm  glad  I've  not  bored  you." 

For  a  little  space  then  they  watched  the 
receding  rails  in  silence  as  they  curled  back 
from  beneath  the  platform,  away — ever 
away — to  a  point  as  fine  as  a  needle  miles 
upon  miles  behind. 


1 60 


A  Purchase  in  the  Open 


XI.  A  PURCHASE  IN  THE  OPEN 

IT  WAS  the  next  day  as  the  train  pulled 
up,  panting,  at  a  huge  red  water  tank 
that  Mason  saw  his  first  real  cowboys.  He 
had  seen  many  "show  specimens"  of  the 
genus  in  Mr.  Cody's  amazing  aggregation  of 
western  cleverness,  but  he  had  always  taken 
them  cum  grano  sails.  But  here  assuredly 
was  the  real  thing,  the  unadulterated  Col 
orado  brand,  indeed.  Coatless,  their  necks 
wrapped  in  gaudy  silken  kerchiefs,  knotted 
behind,  their  great  goatskin  "chaps"  look 
ing  like  animals  themselves,  their  high, 
Spanish  heels  clanking  with  big-rowelled 
spurs,  their  close-cropped  heads  surmounted 
by  wide-brimmed  hats  of  the  regulation 
buckskin  shade,  the  appearance  they  made 
on  their  calico  cow-ponies,  as  they  galloped 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     * 

down  the  cinder  siding,  caused  Mason's 
pulses  to  quicken.  They  were  young  fel 
lows,  both  of  them,  with  sun-bronzed  faces 
and  clear  blue  eyes. 

Mason  swung  himself  down  from  the 
platform  and  approached  them  where  they 
had  drawn  up  near  the  tank.  They  were 
chatting  agreeably  with  the  men  in  the  pos 
tal  car.  As  Mason  drew  near  he  glimpsed 
the  revolver  that  hung  in  its  stamped  leather 
holster  from  the  belt  of  the  taller  of  the  two 
riders.  Off  in  the  distance,  balanced  on  the 
horizon,  was  the  ranch  house,  whither  they 
had  come  to  participate  in  the  only  real  ex 
citement  of  the  day — the  stopping  of  the 
Overland  for  water.  Mason  was  smoking  a 
cigarette,  but,  as  he  drew  near  the  horses,  he 
flung  it  away.  The  nearest  animal  pricked 
up  his  ears  at  the  gesture  and  the  cowboy 
164 


A  PURCHASE  IN  THE  OPEN    ^    * 

turned  and  looked  down  at  the  man  on  the 
siding.  There  was  a  flash  of  recognition 
and  at  Mason's  exclamation  a  bronzed  hand 
shot  forth  and  seized  his  own. 

"Piggy  Gleason!" 

"Hal  Mason,  or  I'm  a  liar  I" 

Had  that  cowboy  struck  him  he  could 
not  have  been  more  amazed  than  he  was 
now  to  grasp  the  hand  of  a  one-time  Har 
vard  acquaintance. 

"What  in  the  name  of  Heaven  are  you 
doing  out  here — like — like  this?"  And 
Mason  indicated  the  hairy  "chaps"  that 
swathed  the  cowboy's  legs. 

"It's  the  Governor's  ranch,  you  see.  I'm 
sort  of  superintending  it  for  him  over  sum 
mer.  Where  you  bound ;  can't  you  stop  off? 
Come  on,  do.  I'll  give  you  a  pony;  run  you 
to  death!"  He  seized  Mason's  shoulder  fa- 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     *• 

miliarly.  The  pipe  of  the  red  water  tank 
swung  about.  The  engine  bell  rang. 

"Perhaps,  on  my  way  back,"  Mason  re 
plied,  as  he  grasped  the  brass  platform  rod. 

"Wire  me — Piggy  Gleason — Thatcher- 
Colorado — all  summer  1"  the  man  on  the 
horse  cried. 

"All  right—." 

And  as  Mason  swung  himself  aboard  the 
moving  train  the  boys  emitted  in  concert — 
if  the  phrase  may  be  employed — a  series  of 
the  most  unearthly  shrieks  the  Boston  man 
had  ever  heard,  at  the  same  time  firing  a 
double  salvo  of  shots  from  their  blue-steel 
forty-fours.  It  was  their  daily  God-speed 
to  the  Overland,  but  Harold  Mason  did 
not  know  that. 

This  meeting  with  Piggy  Gleason  in  the 
"cow  country"  affected  him  more  than  all 
166 


A  PURCHASE  IN  THE  OPEN    *    ^ 

that  Miss  Anstruther  had  told  him.  He 
would  remember  Piggy's  invitation  and 
drop  off  on  his  return,  he  promised  himself, 
and  he  noted  the  town's  name  in  his  little 
seal-covered  memorandum  book.  He  had 
never  been  familiar  with  Piggy  Gleason  at 
Harvard,  but  something — perhaps  the  alti 
tude  to  which  is  credited  all  the  good  and 
all  the  bad  in  Colorado — might  now  be 
credited  with  the  spontaneous  interest  that 
he  felt  in  Piggy. 

Quite  excited,  he  sought  Miss  Anstruther. 
She  had  not  witnessed  the  meeting  and 
Mason's  brief  recital  interested  and  amused 
her.  When  he  expressed  surprise  that  a 
Harvard  man  should  turn  cowboy,  she 
smiled. 

"You'll  find  college  men — Eastern  and 
native — doing  all  sorts  of  things  out  in  this 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     * 

country,"  she  said.  "You'll  find  them  pros 
pecting  and  riding  the  range,  superintend 
ing  mines  and  in  one  or  two  instances  that  I 
know  of,  herding  sheep  in  New  Mexico  and 
Nevada.  I  like  the  cowboys  best  though." 

Her  eyes  flashed  as  she  spoke. 

"Why  best?" 

"A  cowboy  saved  my  life  on  the  Bright 
Angel  trail  in  the  Grand  Canyon  once — 
four  years  ago,"  she  answered  simply. 

"Really?" 

"Yes,  Aunt  Jane  says  I'll  marry  a  cowboy 
before  I  die  — ." 

Something  caused  Mason's  heart  to  leap 
into  his  throat. 

"But  that  is  all  Aunt  Jane  knows  about 
it,"  she  added  and  smiled  at  him  again. 
"You  see,"  she  went  on,  "Aunt  Jane's  opin 
ions  on  the  subject  of  matrimony  are  hardly 
168 


A  PURCHASE  IN  THE  OPEN    ^    ^ 

to  be  depended  upon,  though  I  suppose, 
poor  thing,  she'd  have  married  long  ago  if 
it  had  not  been  for  me." 

"Why  not  let  her,  then?"  Mason  asked. 

"It  is  one  of  my  amusements  to  keep  her 
on  tenter  hooks,  as  it  were.  There  is  a  man 
in  'Frisco,  a  bachelor,  and  one  of  the  very 
best  men  who  ever  breathed  San  Francisco 
fog,  who  has  been  taking  a  thrice  yearly  shy 
at  Aunt  Jane  for,  oh,  for  fifteen  years,  I 
guess.  And  I  know  that  if  it  were  not  for 
me  Aunt  Jane  would  have  married  him  ever 
so  long  ago.  She  really  cares  for  him  a  lot, 
though  she  tries  to  make  me  believe  she 
doesn't.  It  has  been  awfully  mean  of  me, 
but  I've  never  given  my  consent  to  the  mar 
riage." 

"Your  consent  1" 

She  nodded. 

169 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     •** 

"Aunt  Jane  is  such  a  dear,  I've  not  been 
able  thus  far  to  give  her  up.  She's  afraid 
I'll  leave  her  for  good  if  she  marries,  you 
see,  and  so  between  that  suitor  of  hers  and 
her  own  peace  of  mind,  she  has  been  led  a 
lively  pace.  But  I'm  going  to  settle  it  all 
when  I  reach  her.  I'm  going  to  place  their 
hands  together  and  give  them  my  blessing 
and  start  them  along  the  primrose  path.  I 
can  see  Uncle  Jack  when  I  tell  him!  I've 
always  called  him  that.  He's  pleaded  with 
me  to  deliver  my  dear  aunt  into  his  arms,  for 
ever  so  long,  but  I'd  only  laugh  at  him.  I've 
teased  him  until  I  should  think  he'd  employ 
a  Chinaman  to  kidnap  me. — So  perhaps," 
she  added,  "if  you  stop  in  San  Francisco 
long  enough  you  may  attend  a  wedding  — ." 

"Gad!  I'd  like  to!"  And  how  much 
Mason  spoke  from  his  heart  perhaps  Miss 
170 


A  PURCHASE  IN  THE  OPEN    ^    ^ 

Anstruther  did  not  know.  And  perhaps  she 
did.  For  the  faintest  cloud  of  pink  ap 
peared  upon  her  cheek  and  she  turned  to  the 
window. 

That  evening  they  played  cribbage  on  a 
little  table  that  the  porter  provided.  It  was 
a  game  that  Mason  had  not  experienced 
since  his  junior  year  at  college.  Miss  An 
struther  claimed  all  the  counts  he  failed  to 
see  and  beat  him  three  games  out  of  five. 

"It  doesn't  seem  as  though  I  could  do  any 
thing,  and  it  does  seem  as  though  you  could 
do  everything,"  he  said 

"Cribbage  is  the  cowboy  game,"  she  ex 
plained.  "Perhaps  that's  why  I  like  it  — ." 

"But  I  thought  poker  — ,"  Mason  began. 

"That's  what  nearly  everyone  thinks,"  she 
replied.  "I  dare  say  poker  is  played  when 
the  boys  want  to  gamble  among  themselves, 
171 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

but  when  it's  amusement  only  that  they  seek, 
cribbage  is  the  game.  I  believe  that  every 
cowboy  in  the  West  has  a  cribbage-board  as 
a  necessary  part  of  his  'outfit.'  " 

"Well,"  Mason  observed,  "if  I'm  to  be 
come  a  cowboy,  then,  I  must  polish  up  my 
cribbage  — ." 

She  laughed  and  they  bade  each  other 
good  night.  In  his  own  section  Mason  sat 
staring  at  the  plush  of  the  seat  in  front  of 
him  until  the  porter  "shooed"  him  out  to 
make  up  the  berth.  A  couple  of  cattle-men 
were  smoking  in  the  compartment  at  the  end 
of  the  car,  and  both  looked  up  and  nodded 
in  the  comfortable  Western  way  as  he  en 
tered.  They  had  nothing  to  say,  however, 
and  he  was  glad  of  that.  He  took  out  his 
railway  folder  with  its  blue  cross  on  the 
cover  and  studied  it  intently.  The  next 
172 


A 


HE  WAS  FILLED  WITH  A  GREAT  LONGING  TO  TELL  HER  THEN 


A  PURCHASE  IN  THE  OPEN    *•    * 

night  they  would  be  in  Albuquerque — he 
pronounced  it  "Albukerk."  He  read  what 
the  folder  had  to  say  concerning  the  Alvar- 
ado  hotel  erected  there  by  the  railway  two 
years  before.  The  description  of  the  mu 
seum  interested  him.  And  the  further  he 
read  the  more  firmly  convinced  was  he  that 
it  was  Fate  which  offered  him  that  curio 
room  as  the  place  wherein  he  should  tell 
Sibyl  Anstruther  what  he  had  wanted  to  tell 
her  these  two  days  back.  It  would  be  rarely 
appropriate  he  assured  himself.  Nor  did 
the  passage  of  the  night  serve  to  shake  his 
determination.  The  next  morning  as  he 
strolled  up  and  down  the  platform  of  the 
breakfast  station  with  Miss  Anstruther,  he 
perceived  how  exquisite  she  was,  and  he  was 
filled  with  a  great  longing  to  tell  her  then 
and  there.  But  a  Mexican  sat  on  a  truck 

173 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

watching  them  and  he  decided  it  was  not  the 
place.  At  Lamy,  early  in  the  afternoon, 
they  clambered  out  of  the  car  again  for  a 
turn  along  the  platform.  At  the  end  of  the 
station  in  the  shadow  of  the  water  tank, 
stood  a  straight-featured  squaw,  with  her 
papoose  beside  her. 

She  was  the  first  Indian  in  real  Indian 
dress  Mason  had  thus  far  seen.  Her  shiny 
hair,  parted  in  the  middle,  hung  in  two  tight 
braids  forward  over  her  shoulders.  Her 
gaunt  figure  was  wrapped  in  a  really  gor 
geous,  and  comparatively  clean  blanket. 
Her  legs  were  swathed  in  the  curious  loose 
skin  leggings  of  her  people  and  she  stood  in 
beaded  moccasins.  The  child  was  dressed 
like  its  mother  save  for  the  blanket.  Its  lit 
tle  breeches  were  wide  and  blue,  with  rows 
of  vari-colored  beading  down  the  outer 
174 


A  PURCHASE  IN  THE  OPEN    ^    ^ 

seams.  Its  hair  was  braided  like  the  wo 
man's,  and  two  feathers  waved  from  the 
scalp-lock.  The  tiny  moccasins  it  wore 
were  exquisite  specimens  of  native  handi 
craft. 

Kneeling,  Miss  Anstruther  held  out  her 
arms  to  the  little  thing,  but  it  drew  back, 
seizing  the  edge  of  its  mother's  blanket. 
But  as  the  girl  spoke  pleasantly,  it  took  cour 
age  and  came  to  her,  its  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
pin  at  her  throat.  The  mother  grinned  her 
pleasure  and  her  pride.  "How  old?"  Miss 
Anstruther  asked.  The  woman  thrust  a 
hand  from  beneath  her  blanket  and  held  up 
three  fingers.  On  the  first  finger,  she  wore 
a  great  silver  ring,  fan-shaped,  with  an  im 
mense  turquoise  set  in  its  centre. 

Miss  Anstruther  rose.  "Let  me  see  that," 
she  said. 

175 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

The  squaw  held  out  her  claw-like  hand. 

"It's  a  beauty,"  Mason  said. 

"How  much?"  inquired  the  girl. 

The  squaw  held  up  four  fingers.  Miss 
Anstruther  shook  her  head. 

"Offer  her  two,"  she  whispered.  Mason 
did.  The  squaw  removed  the  ring  so  swift 
ly  that  it  appeared  an  act  of  legerdemain. 

The  girl  examined  the  curious  carving, 
then  returned  the  ring  to  Mason.  Just  then 
the  engine  bell  rang. 

"Wear  it  back  East,"  Miss  Anstruther 
said,  as  they  stood  on  the  plaform,  "and  let 
your  silver-smiths  see  what  sort  of  rings  the 
Indians  out  here  can  make  from  a  Mexican 
dollar  and  a  native  turquois." 

"I  mean  to,"  Mason  replied,  and  slipped 
the  ring  over  the  little  finger  of  his  left 
hand. 


A  PURCHASE  IN  THE  OPEN    •* 

The  ring,  however,  proved  to  be  too  large 
despite  the  bit  of  cloth  with  which  the  silver 
circlet  had  been  bound  by  the  squaw,  so  he 
drew  it  from  his  finger  and  placed  it  in  his 
waist-coat  pocket  where  it  was  destined  to 
lie  for  some  time,  forgotten. 

"This  is  the  turquoise  country,  you 
know,"  Miss  Anstruther  said.  "One  of  the 
most  famous  jewelers  in  America  has  his 
own  private  mine  out  here  and  supplies 
himself  with  the  stones." 

"Really,"  Mason  leaned  forward. 

"Yes.  Its  discovery  was  an  accident— all 
discoveries  are  in  this  country,  father  used 
to  say.  I  remember  his  telling  me  that  a  col 
lege  graduate  would  come  out  into  the  hills 
with  all  the  money  he  could  carry  in  a  pack 
and  a  nickel-plated  prospecting  kit,  quite  as 
perfect  and  as  brilliant  in  its  way  as  its  own- 
177 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     * 

er's  geological  and  metallurgical  knowl 
edge.  Then  he  would  hire  as  guide  some 
aged  prospector  upon  whose  tousled  head 
the  sun  of  fortune  had  never  shone.  At  the 
end  of  a  month  the  college  man  would  ar 
rive  at  the  conclusion  that  an  academic 
knowledge  of  geology  and  metallurgy 
counts  for  nought  in  the  hills.  There,  the 
goddess  of  fortune  reigns  supreme.  More 
often  than  not,  the  aged  guide  would  quar 
rel  wTith  the  college  prospector  and  go  off  by 
himself. 

"Once,  under  such  circumstances,  it  hap 
pened  that  the  old  prospector  himself  struck 
it  rich,  the  very  next  day,  and  with  one  blow 
of  his  hammer  laid  bare  a  surface  vein  of 
ore  that  proved  a  lead  to  the  richest  mine 
discovered  in  the  vicinity  up  to  that  time. 
He  had  run  across  an  old  deer's  horn  in  his 


A  PURCHASE  IN  THE  OPEN    ^    * 

wanderings.  A  deer's  horn,  you  know,  is  a 
symbol  of  good  luck  among  the  Indians.  So 
the  old  man  lifted  the  horn,  and  in  a  spirit 
of  fun  knocked  off  a  bit  of  the  rock  upon 
which  it  had  lain.  The  goddess  of  the  hills 
smiled  upon  him.  There,  before  his  eyes, 
lay  the  gold. 

" A  few  months  later  the  geological-metal 
lurgist,  having  spent  all  his  money  and  dis 
covered  nothing,  went  to  work  for  the  old 
man  for  two  dollars  a  day.  The  hills  could 
tell  a  million  tales  of  luck  such  as  that." 

"And  yet,"  Mason  said,  when  she  ceased 
speaking,  "one  can't  call  it  all  luck.  The 
concentration  upon  the  object  of  search  was 
certain  to  have  the  desired  result.  That  one 
found  gold  where  another  had  failed  to  find 
it  was  accidental,  merely.  It  was  destined 
to  be  found  by  some  one." 
179 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     '-* 

"It  was  the  same  with  the  turquoise 
mine,"  Miss  Anstruther  went  on.  "An  artist 
who  had  come  out  here  among  the  Indians 
to  paint  them,  saw  a  papoose  playing  with  a 
quantity  of  blue  stones.  He  asked  where 
they  had  been  found  and  a  young  brave  took 
him  to  the  top  of  a  nearby  mesa.  The 
ground  was  literally  covered  with  the  gems. 
The  mesa  was  not  on  the  reservation  and  the 
artist  was  wise  in  his  generation.  He 
marked  his  claim,  returned  to  the  East  and 
sold  it  for  more  money  than  all  the  pictures 
he  might  paint  till  the  end  of  time  would 
bring  him." 

The  sunset  was  glorifying  the  barren 
lands  through  which  they  were  passing.  In 
the  glow  the  desert  took  on  a  beauty  all  its 
own.  The  very  air  appeared  suffused  with 
an  amethyst  tint. 

1 80 


A  PURCHASE  IN  THE  OPEN    *    * 

It  was  seven  o'clock  and  still  quite  light 
when  they  reached  Albuquerque. 

"I  want  you  to  see  the  station,  here,"  Miss 
Anstruther  said,  "for  unless  you  visit  South 
ern  California,  you  will  see  nothing  finer 
in  the  way  of  Mission  architecture." 

In  front  of  them  as  they  alighted  stood 
the  building,  long  and  low  and  grey  in  the 
softening  light.  In  the  cool  cloisters  he 
glimpsed  here  and  there  the  white  of  a 
dress.  The  broad  brick  walk,  extending 
from  the  tracks  to  the  entrance  beneath  the 
belfry,  was  lined  on  both  sides  by  a  row  of 
sitting  Indian  girls  and  women.  In  front 
of  each  one  was  a  basket  heaped  with  softly 
tinted  specimens  of  their  pottery  decorated 
with  the  lines  and  symbols  of  their  ceremon 
ials  .  In  front  of  one  girl  was  a  basket  piled 
with  polished  red  apples. 
181 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

"They  are  Hopis  and  Navajos,"  Miss  An- 
struther  said;  "potters,  silver-workers,  and 
blanket  weavers." 

Their  dress  was  rich  in  color  with  the  reds 
predominating.  Despite  the  heat  they  wore 
their  swathings  close  about  them  and  seemed 
not  to  mind.  The  riot  of  color  they  pre 
sented  was  softened  by  the  lowering  sun, 
which  served,  as  well,  to  transform  their 
sharp  features  and  give  to  them  a  certain 
beauty. 

Mason  was  inclined  to  make  a  purchase 
from  each  of  the  women  who  so  pleadingly 
held  up  to  him  her  wares,  but  Miss  An- 
struther  dissuaded  him. 

"Don't  now,"  she  said.  "Wait  until  after 
dinner." 

They  followed  the  others  into  the  dining- 
room.  The  white  clad  waitress  who  re- 
182 


A  PURCHASE  IN  THE  OPEN    *    ^ 

ceived  them  perhaps  understood  the  situa 
tion  better  even  than  Mason  himself,  for 
straightway  she  led  them  across  the  room 
to  a  little  table  for  two  beneath  one  of  the 
high  west  windows,  through  which 
streamed  a  last  ray  of  the  summer  sun, 
marking  a  path  of  gold  upon  the  floor. 

Miss  Anstruther  maintained  a  stream  of 
small  talk  that  kept  Mason  silent  if  inter 
ested.  He  had  made  a  brave  plan  for  this 
night  and  it  was  not  his  intention  to  swerve 
one  hair's  breadth  from  it.  But  as  the 
waitress  served  him  with  a  pistache  ice  he 
looked  up  and  said: — 

"And  to  think  that  all  this  is  happening 
out  in  New  Mexico,  virtually  in  the  desert!" 

aAnd  such  a  terribly  long  way  from 
Faneuil  Hall  and  Washington  Street,"  Miss 
Anstruther  added. 

183 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL 

"Please  don't  rub  it  in,"  Mason  begged. 

"And  shall  you  stop  over  at  the  Canyon?" 
Miss  Anstruther  inquired  with  seeming  in 
difference,  looking  up  from  her  ice. 

"Yes,  I  have  made  my  plans,"  he  replied. 

"I  wonder,"  she  mused  aloud,  "what  you 
will  say  when  you  look  down  into  it  for  the 
first  time." 

"Perhaps  I  shall  say  nothing,"  he  an 
swered. 

She  half  smiled  and  looked  down. 

"I  couldn't  speak  for  a  moment,"  she  said, 
"when  first  it  was  revealed  to  me." 

From  across  the  room  came  the  tinkle  of 
glass  and  the  rattle  of  china.  The  light 
from  the  little  red-shaded  electric  candle  on 
the  table  cast  half  Miss  Anstruther's  face  in 
shadow.  They  were  apart  from  the  others 
dining  in  the  room,  yet  of  them,  none  the 
184 


A  PURCHASE  IN  THE  OPEN    *    * 

less.  Mason's  heart  was  beating  rapidly. 
He  became  conscious  that  the  moment  had 
come  for  him  to  give  voice  to  that  which  had 
long  lain  upon  his  tongue. 

He  leaned  forward. 

"Miss  Anstruther," — he  began. 

Perhaps  his  eyes  told  her;  perhaps  his 
heart  called  across  the  table  to  hers.  In  any 
event,  as  he  spoke  she  pushed  away  the 
finger  bowl  and,  rising,  said : 

"Come — you  must  see  the  curio  rooms." 

He  followed  her  meekly  down  the  echo 
ing  cloister,  wondering  at  his  own  ready 
obedience. 

The  place  whither  she  led  the  way  was 
a  museum  and  yet  also  a  kind  of  curio  shop. 
Many  of  the  odd  objects  displayed  here  for 
sale  were  in  a  way  familiar  to  him.  One 
may  buy  Indian  baskets  in  Boston,  if  one 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     * 

will ;  but  here  they  seemed  to  mean  more,  in 
the  heart  of  the  land  that  produced  them. 

On  the  walls  hung  a  multitude  of  Indian 
and  Mexican  tapestries  and  paintings;  cur 
ious  baskets  in  which  one  might  carry 
water;  plaques,  feather  ornaments,  carved- 
leather,  and  what  not.  Here  and  there  hung 
a  splendid  Navajo  blanket,  its  rich  colors 
harmonizing  exquisitely  with  those  in  the 
scrape  beside  it.  A  wonderfully  decorated 
prayer  apron  attracted  Miss  Anstruther's 
attention,  and  she  spoke  to  a  salesman  con 
cerning  it. 

Mason  glanced  at  his  watch.  In  fifteen 
minutes  their  train  was  scheduled  to  depart. 

Presently   Miss   Anstruther  joined   him 
again  and  they  strolled  together  through  the 
rooms  and  into  a    small  chamber  at    the 
further  end  of  the  building. 
1 86 


A  PURCHASE  IN  THE  OPEN    *    * 

Suspended  by  great  chains  from  a  ceil 
ing  beam  was  a  swing  of  the  ancient  Span 
ish  Mission  pattern.  Over  it  was  thrown  an 
Indian  blanket  as  richly  colored  as  any 
oriental  fabric  Mason  had  ever  seen. 

Miss  Anstruther  seated  herself  in  the 
swing.  Mason  glanced  quickly  over  his 
shoulder,  then  leaned  forward,  standing,  as 
he  was,  behind  her.  He  was  about  to  speak 
when  there  sounded  in  his  ears  a  voice  from 
behind,  which  he  recognized  as  that  of  the 
salesman  with  whom  Miss  Anstruther  had 
spoken. 

"Believe  me,  madam,"  the  voice  said, 
"that  apron  is  genuine  and  the  price  at 
which  I  offer  it  to  you  is  in  no  sense  high. 
Or,  if  you  care  to  see  them,  I  shall  be 
only  too  glad  to  show  you  a  lot  of  Navajo 
blankets  ranging  in  price  from  five  hundred 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     ^ 

to  two  thousand  dollars — perfect  antiques, 
woven  by  the  Indians  from  threads  raveled 
from  ancient  Spanish  cloths.  Indian 
blankets  are  very  like  Mexican  drawn 
work,  an  expert  alone  is  able  to  distinguish 
between  the  valuable  and  the  worthless. 
May  I  not  show  you  these  blankets?" 

Mason  was  all  of  a  tremble.  He  bit  his 
lip.  Here,  amid  the  relics  of  a  civilization 
far  older  than  his  own,  he  had  meant  to  tell 
the  story  of  his  heart — a  story  itself  as  old  as 
these  things. 

He  located  the  voice;  it  came  from  be 
hind  a  great  pile  of  blankets  in  one  corner. 
And  then  he  heard  it  again  from  a  point, 
apparently,  further  away.  An  instant  he 
hesitated,  then — 

"Miss  Anstruther,"  he  began,  "there's 
something  I've  been  wanting  to  tell  you  — ." 
1 88 


A  PURCHASE  IN  THE  OPEN    ^    * 

She  lifted  her  face  and  looked  up  at  him 
frankly. 

"What  is  it—?"  she  asked. 

He  hesitated. 

"Overland!    All  aboard!    All  aboard!" 

It  was  the  conductor's  megaphone  call 
from  the  track  without. 

"Come;  we  must  hurry!"  Miss  An- 
struther  cried,  springing  up. 

"Confound  it!"  muttered  Mason  under 
his  breath,  as  he  followed  her  through  the 
cloister  and  out  upon  the  tracks. 


Accessory  After   the   Fact 


XII.  ACCESSORY  AFTER  THE  FACT 

AVE  on  occasion  Hal  Mason  was  not 
given  to  the  use  of  expletives.  And 
even  now  he  excused  himself  for  the  one 
uttered  so  fervently  at  the  conductor's  call 
of  "all  aboard."  He  was  not  sure  Miss  An- 
struther  had  not  heard  it,  voiced  under  his 
breath  though  it  was.  But  she  had  been  the 
first  to  board  the  train  and  he  could  not, 
therefore,  see  her  face.  However,  she  was 
smiling;  more,  she  was  laughing.  Small 
wonder  the  Pullman  conductor,  standing 
statuesquely  in  the  vestibule,  should  have 
thought  her  radiance  of  countenance  meant 
solely  for  him.  Angry  at  himself,  and  at 
the  conductor — (indeed,  most  angry  at  the 
conductor) — Mason  lingered  a  moment  on 
the  platform  while  the  white-coated  porter 

193 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     •* 

dropped  the  trap  in  the  floor  and  closed  the 
plate-glass  door.  Entering  the  car  then,  he 
glanced  toward  Miss  Anstruther's  section. 
It  was  vacant.  The  young  woman  had  dis 
appeared  from  his  sight  as  completely  as  if 
the  train  had  swallowed  her.  So  Mason 
sought  the  solitude  of  the  smoking  compart 
ment  and  the  solace  of  a  certain  brand  of 
cigar  that  he  had  little  thought  it  possible 
to  secure  in  "the  wilds  of  New  Mexico,"  as 
he  characterized  the  glowing  desert-land 
through  which,  for  hours,  his  train  had  been 
reeling  off  the  miles. 

Given,  as  has  been  said,  to  self-analysis — 
motive  analysis  if  you  will — to  a  degree 
unusual  in  a  young  man,  particularly  a 
Boston  young  man,  he  indulged  himself  in 
the  pernicious  habit  now  between  puffs  at 
his  cigar. 

194 


ACCESSORY  AFTER  THE  FACT    ^ 

Had  that  fervent  exclamation  been  ut 
tered  from  his  heart  or  wherever  was  the 
seat  of  the  emotions — he  remembered  once 
having  read  it  was  the  stomach — or  had  it 
been  the  result  of,  say,  physical  annoyance? 
Would  he  have  asked  Miss  Anstruther  to 
marry  him,  would  he  really,  if  the  conduc 
tor  had  not  called  "all  aboard"  at  that  es 
pecial  moment?  He  was  questioning  his 
heart  now,  in  all  seriousness,  and  awaited 
an  answer,  the  while  he  tried  to  blow  rings 
of  pale  blue  smoke. 

To  be  sure,  he  argued,  he  had  told  him 
self  as  he  lay  in  his  berth  one  night — what 
night  was  it  anyway? — for  the  life  of  him 
he  could  not  quite  remember — that  he  loved 
her.  Heaven  knew  he  was  honest  enough 
then,  at  that  precise  moment.  And  had 
he  not  fallen  asleep,  forthwith,  to  dream 

195 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

of  her — her  voice,  her  face,  her  smile? 
Or  was  it  after  all  a  mere  matter  of  pro 
pinquity?  Would  he  not  consider  himself 
in  love  with  any  girl  into  whose  society  he 
might  be  constantly  thrown  for  a  period  of 
five  days?  Propinquity  might  mean  a  lot, 
given  the  girl  was  pretty  and  had  a  way 
with  her.  On  the  moment  he  could  recall 
four  separate  instances  wherein  certain 
nameless  fellows  of  his  one-time  acquaint 
ance  had  met  their  respective  fates  at  week 
end  house  parties.  They  had  married  these 
suddenly  revealed  fates  and  had  settled 
down — in  peace  and  comfort?  He  smiled 
grimly.  Hardly.  All  four,  as  though 
moved  by  a  single  set  of  springs,  had  shortly 
sought  peace  and  comfort  at  the  hands  of 
a  benign  judge,  who,  strange  to  relate,  had, 
in  his  earlier  days,  found  himself  in  the 
196 


ACCESSORY  AFTER  THE  FACT    * 

same  predicament.     Yes,  propinquity  did 
mean  a  lot,  sometimes  1 

And  yet,  why  should  his  case  be  precisely 
like  these  others?  Was  it  not  reasonable 
that  this  might  be  an  exception?  The  grim- 
ness  melted  away  and  his  smile  softened. 

Then,  of  a  sudden  and  with  the  force  of 
a  blow  between  the  eyes,  he  realized  that 
not  once  had  he  considered  the  possible  state 
of  Miss  Anstruther's  feelings.  He  had 
gone  straight  on  in  the  usual  way  of  Boston 
youth;  had  thought  only  of  himself.  But, 
he  was  sane  enough  to  appreciate,  if  Miss 
Anstruther  had  not  shown  he  was  agreeable 
to  her,  neither  had  she,  on  the  other  hand, 
shown  that  he  was  not.  Indeed,  he  had 
every  reason,  he  thought,  to  feel  that  there 
was  still  a  fighting  chance,  perhaps  a  little 
better  chance,  even,  than  that. 
197 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

But  what  of  the  Governor?  He  winced, 
thinking  of  him  and  what  he  might  say; 
indeed,  what  he  very  probably  would  say. 
But  he  had  threshed  this  out  quite  clean  in 
his  own  mind.  Let  the  Governor  rage  if 
he  chose ;  it  would  all  be  a  part  of  the  game. 
Governors  had  raged  at  the  hot-headed- 
ness  of  youth  since  Adam's  time.  It  was 
the  privilege  of  Governors  to  resent — their 
natural  prerogative  to  interfere  in  the  se 
lections  of  young  hearts.  Albeit  in  their 
day  Governmental  resentment  had  had 
small  effect  upon  their  own  course  in  the 
conquest  of  hearts.  Still  it  was  no  more 
than  fair  that  the  Governor  should  know. 
And  Hal  Mason  acted  immediately.  From 
an  inner  pocket  he  took  out  a  little  blank- 
book  with  detachable  leaves  and  with  his 
fountain  pen  scribbled  this  terse  epistle: 
198 


ACCESSORY  AFTER  THE  FACT 

"Dear  Dad: — On  the  train  out  of  Albu 
querque.  I'm  going  to  mail  this  to  you  to 
morrow  morning  at  Ash  Fork,  where  we 
breakfast.  You'll  get  it  in  time  to  wire  me 
at  the  Palace  Hotel,  'Frisco.  On  this  same 
train  is  Sibyl  Anstruther,  a  friend  of  the 
Worringtons'  who  may  tell  you  anything 
you  want  to  know  about  her.  /'//  tell  you 
that  I  love  her.  I  have  reason  to  know 
there's  a  fellow  back  in  Boston  who  does, 
too.  But  he's  there  and  I'm  here.  We  are 
both  going  to  stop  over  two  days  at  the 
Grand  Canyon.  I'm  going  to  ask  her  to 
marry  me.  It'll  all  be  over  before  you  get 
this,  but  I'll  look  for  your  blessing  by  wire. 
Maybe  the  blessing  will  not  be  apropos, 
but  I  hope  it  will.  I'd  wire  you  my  inten 
tions,  but  if  I  did  it  would  give  you  time 
to  wire  back  before  the  event,  so  I'm  writ 
ing  instead,  to  prepare  you.  And  about 
Tompkins,  don't  lose  any  sleep.  I  know 
it's  my  chance  and  I'll  get  him. 

"Your  son, 

"HAL." 

He  folded  the  two  sheets  and  slipped 
them  into  a  stamped  envelope. 
199 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     **     * 

The  porter  had  made  up  nearly  all  the 
berths,  his  own  included.  Evidently  Miss 
Anstruther  had  retired,  for  the  curtains  of 
her  section  were  closely  drawn.  A  moment 
Mason  stood  there  in  the  aisle,  tapping  his 
lips  with  the  envelope.  Then  he  softly 
called,  "Porter." 

That  functionary  came  toward  him. 

"Porter,  when  do  we  pass  a  train  going 
east?"  he  asked. 

"In  an  hour  an7  a  half,  suh,  if  Numbah 
Eight's  on  time." 

"Do  we  stop  long  enough  for  you  to  put 
this  letter  on?" 

"Yes,  suh;  we  take  watah  at  de  same 
place,  suh." 

Mason  gave  him  the  letter. 

"You  won't  fail  to  mail  it?" 

The  porter  grinned.  "No  suh ;  Ah  nevah 
200 


ACCESSORY  AFTER  THE  FACT    * 

fails  de  passengers,  suh,"  he  replied  proudly. 

"Here's  a  dollar,"  and  Mason  held  to 
ward  him  a  crisp  new  note. 

The  porter  took  it  and  bowed  to  the  floor. 

Then  Mason,  with  a  happy  light  in  his 
eyes,  sought  his  berth, 


201 


The  Magic  of  a  Sunset 


XIII.  THE  MAGIC  OF  A  SUNSET 

KE  appeared  just  in  time  for  breakfast 
the  next  morning.  Many  of  the  pas 
sengers  had  already  left  the  train  and  Miss 
Anstruther  was  still  nowhere  to  be  seen. 
Mason  discovered  her,  however,  in  the  din 
ing-room,  engaged  upon  a  golden  omelet. 
The  chairs  beside  her  were  occupied  so  he 
was  compelled  to  comfort  himself  with  an 
occasional  glimpse  of  her  from  across  the 
room.  Around  the  tables  moved  what 
seemed  to  him  an  endless  line  of  white-clad 
girls  who  served  the  guests  from  immense 
platters.  Mason  marveled  at  the  system 
which  permitted  half  a  hundred  hungry 
travelers'  being  comfortably  and  most  pala 
tably  served  in  the  half  hour  allowed  the 
train.  He  was  hungry  and  not  one  of  the 
205 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^      * 

noiselessly  moving  serving  maids  was  al 
lowed  to  pass  his  chair. 

Afterward,  as  he  walked  down  the  length 
of  the  train  with  Miss  Anstruther,  he  ob 
served: 

"Of  all  I  have  seen  of  this  country  and 
of  all  you  have  told  me,  it  is  the  feeding  out 
here  that  most  amazes  me.  I  am  ready  to 
apologize  for  not  having  believed  at  first  in 
that  crab  you  told  me  about ." 

She  lifted  a  pair  of  merry  eyes  to  his. 

"But  I  do  now,"  he  went  on.  "If  they 
were  to  serve  me  with  nightingales'  tongues 
and  peacocks'  brains  at  the  next  eating- 
house,  I  should  not  be  in  the  least  surprised, 
but  would  accept  them  as  a  mere  matter  of 


course." 


Miss  Anstruther  laughed. 
"I   was   just  thinking,"    Mason   added, 
206 


THE  MAGIC  OF  A  SUNSET     *>     •* 

"what  a  ripping  time  Lucullus  would  have 
on  a  trip  like  this.'7 

"Wouldn't  he!"  Miss  Anstruther  ex 
claimed.  "And  yet,"  she  went  on  with  mock 
seriousness,  "I  had  rather  hoped  it  wouldn't 
all  be  the  feeding  with  you." 

"I  guess  I'm  mostly  'inner  man,'  "  he  re 
plied.  "And  yet  you  cannot  say  I  am  with 
out  appreciation  of  this  country  for  what 
it  is.  But  you  know  I've  not  seen  anything 
like  the  scenery  I  expected.  The  hills  at 
Raton  and  that  tunnel  were  rather  interest 
ing ." 

"Wait,"  she  put  in.  "If  you  had  taken 
any  one  of  the  other  routes,  you  would 
have  had  nice  little  dabs  of  scenery 
sprinkled  all  along  the  way.  It's  different 
down  here  in  the  Southwest.  All  the  scen 
ery  is  compressed,  as  it  were,  into  one  gigan- 
207 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     * 

tic,  over-powering  piece.  I  mean  the  Grand 
Canyon.  You'll  see  it  to-night.  We  change 
at  Williams,  you  know,  and  it  takes  us  three 
hours  to  reach  the  Rim." 

They  hurried  aboard  then. 

All  the  morning  Miss  Anstruther  chose 
to  read  a  new  magazine  and  Mason  was  ac 
cordingly  left  to  his  own  devices.  For  three 
hours,  he  sat  in  the  chair-car  ahead,  leaning 
back  in  his  seat,  gazing  out  the  window. 

The  letter  that  was  then  speeding  on  toward 

i 

Boston  had,  in  the  writing  of  it,  served  to 
clear  his  mind  of  every  vestige  of  doubt  con 
cerning  the  propriety  of  the  course  he  had 
determined  to  pursue.  So  further  self-an 
alysis  was  quite  unnecessary.  He  had  noth 
ing  to  do,  in  fact,  but  gaze  out  the  window. 

Away  off  in  the  northern   distance  he 
thought  he  saw  mountains,  but  was  not  sure. 
208 


THE  MAGIC  OF  A  SUNSET     ^     ^ 

The  horizon  line  seemed  strangely  elevated 
above  his  own  position.  It  was  as  though 
the  train  were  traversing  an  immense  sau 
cer  covered  by  an  inverted  and  transparent 
turquoise  bowl.  He  knew  it  was  hot  out 
there  under  the  pitiless,  brazen  sun,  but  he 
himself  was  strangely  cool.  The  motion  of 
the  train  coupled  with  the  heat  vibrations 
above  the  earth  gave  to  the  desert  as  far  as 
he  could  see  something  of  the  quality  of  a 
mirrored  reflection  in  a  wavy  glass.  Once, 
out  there  in  the  endless  waste  of  sand  and 
sage,  he  caught  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  a  soli 
tary  man  astride  a  burro.  The  man  did  not 
lift  his  eyes  at  the  passage  of  the  train.  He 
was,  to  Mason,  absolutely  alone  in  space, 
coming  from  nowhere,  going  nowhere. 

He   tried   to   make   himself   understand 
what  existence  would  mean  out  yonder; 
209 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     * 

surely  it  could  not  be  termed  life.  The 
pitiless  sun  would  burn  into  the  very  soul 
of  him  who  dwelt  beneath  it;  and  the  tur 
quoise  sky  would  mock  him  in  his  anguish. 
And  yet  he  knew  that  here  came  men  and 
women  from  his  own  watered,  blooming 
land  back  East  to  find  the  health  and  the 
life  itself  that  eluded  them  there.  The 
sweep  of  quivering  desert,  thirsting  under 
the  brazen  sun,  made  an  appeal  to  his  im 
agination  that  had  within  it  something  of 
the  dramatic.  That  life  was  good,  the  des 
ert  told  him,  as  he  was  borne  swiftly  across 
it. 

He  rose  and  passing  through  the  car  be 
hind  stood  alone  on  the  rear  platform.  A 
tiny  settlement  flew  past — three  low,  white 
washed  sheds,  a  house  of  boards;  and  in 
the  doorway  stood  a  woman  holding  in  her 
210 


THE  MAGIC  OF  A  SUNSET     *•     * 

arms  a  child.  Mason  shivered,  then  into  his 
eyes  came  a  look  of  tenderness.  He  thought 
of  the  woman  there  in  the  doorway  as  a  sym 
bol;  for  love  dwells  even  in  the  desert,  and 
where  love  is  there  can  be  life  and  all  that 
makes  life  worth  the  living.  The  sun  was 
high  in  the  sky.  He  turned  and  re-entered 
the  car  just  as  the  engine  whistle  announced 
the  proximity  of  a  station. 

At  Williams,  he  dined  with  Miss  An- 
struther  at  the  Canyon  Hotel,  and  then  they 
amused  themselves  spinning  the  little  ivory 
ball  around  the  rim  of  a  roulette  wheel, 
drawn  up  by  the  door  of  the  open,  un 
screened  bar-room.  From  his  chair  at  the 
end  of  the  bar,  a  sleepy,  white-faced  youth 
watched  them  wearily  and  smiled  at  Ma 
son's  exclamation  when  the  little  ball  came 
to  rest  in  a  compartment  that  corresponded 
211 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

to  the  square  that  he  had  specified  on  the 
adjoining  green-covered  table. 

Afterward  they  walked  to  the  foot  of 
Bill  Williams  mountain.  Miss  Anstruther 
was  for  ascending  it,  but  even  her  promise 
to  point  out  to  him  where  lay  the  "lost 
mine"  of  that  region  was  insufficient  to 
tempt  him  to  make  the  ascent.  So,  instead, 
in  the  shade  of  a  scrubby  bush,  she  told  him 
the  story  of  Old  Peleg,  who  had  run  across 
the  vein  one  day,  but  had  never  been  able 
to  rediscover  it  albeit  he  had  made  many 
trips  over  the  lucky  route,  as  scores  since  his 
time  had  also  done,  but  to  no  purpose.  The 
sun  found  them  where  they  sat  and  drove 
them  down  to  the  railway  station  where  the 
Canyon  train  stood  waiting. 

As  the  train  was  making  ready  to  depart, 
Miss  Anstruther  said:  "Do  you  see  that  lit- 
212 


THE  MAGIC  OF  A  SUNSET     ^     * 

tie,  frail  man  there,  talking  with  the  engi 
neer?" 

Mason  followed  the  direction  of  her  eyes 
and  nodded. 

"I  want  you  to  get  into  conversation  with 
him.  He  is  John  Hance,  Captain  John 
Hance,  they  call  him  out  here.  For  twenty 
years  he  has  lived  down  in  the  Canyon.  My 
father  used  to  know  him  well.  Perhaps 
he  knows  more  about  the  Canyon  than  any 
man  who  ever  lived,  save  Powell." 

Hance,  Mason  discovered  shortly,  was  not 
averse  to  talking.  He  was  thoroughly  West 
ern,  Mason  decided,  in  that  respect. 

"M'  boy,"  he  said  in  reply  to  the  young 
man's  question,  "what  do  I  live  down  in  that 
hole  fer?  Til  tell  ye.  I  was  born  back  in 
yer  country.  All  my  life  I've  been  tryin'  t' 
git  away  from  yer  durn  civilization.  So  I 
213 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     ^ 

started  west.  I  set  a  spell  in  Missouri  but 
it  follered  me  there.  Then  I  come  on  t' 
Colorado;  it  got  there  right  behind  me.  I 
trailed  on  t'  Utah;  there  she  was  right  be 
hind  me  again.  Then  sez  I,  Til  make  a 
break  fer  th'  Pacific.'  Unbeknownst  t'  me 
they'd  struck  gold  in  Californy  an'  fer 
months  civilization  had  been  crossin'  th' 
Isthmus  or  roundin'  th'  Horn,  t'  head  me 
off.  I  was  plum  penned  in.  So  sez  I,  'I'll 
turn  'round  and  make  fer  this  hole  in  th' 
ground  n',  by  gosh,  I'll  bet  it  won't  git  me 
there.'  'N'  so  I  did  'n'  I've  been  livin'  in 
this  hole  fer  twenty  years,  me'n'  my  dog." 

"Then   you're   not   married,    Captain?" 
Mason  said. 

"No,  I  ain't,  though  I  s'pose  I  may  say 
I'm  almost  married;  all  I'm  needin'  t'  be 
completely  so,  is  the  woman's  consent  — ." 
214 


THE  MAGIC  OF  A  SUNSET     *     * 

Mason  laughed;  the  reply  pleased  him. 

"Ever  been  t'  th'  Canyon?"  the  old  man 
asked. 

Mason  shook  his  head. 

"Well,  I  guess  it's  w'uth  seein' ;  guess  ye'll 
say  so  yerself  when  ye  git  a  bead  on  it." 

"What's  it  like,  Captain?" 

Hance  looked  at  him  from  a  pair  of  pale 
blue  eyes.  Then  he  spat  through  the  open 
window. 

"Like!"  he  exclaimed.  "Well,  some 
times  it's  like  a  flower,  one  o'  them  Californy 
flowers  that's  got  more'n  a  dozen  colors  in 
'em ;  then  again  it's  like  a  woman,  smilin' ; 
'n'  I've  seen  it  mad,  so  mad  it  skairt  even  m' 
dog.  Sometimes  I've  thought  it  was 
Heaven  itself;  'n'  again  I've  thought  it  was 
a  sort  of  an  abandoned  hell,  a  claim  that  th' 
Devil  quit  when  he  see  he  needed  more 
215 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     ** 

room.  But  there  ain't  no  use  o'  m'  tryin'  t' 
tell  ye  what  it's  like  more'n  t'  say  it's  jest  a 
hell  of  a  hole  in  th'  ground  that  t'  look  at  '11 
give  ye  a  pritty  good  idee  how  the  world 
was  made,  in  th'  beginnin'.  See  it  fer  yer- 
self,  m'  boy,  V  remember  this:  what  it  's 
like  t'  ye  it  was  never  that  t'  anybody  else 
before,  V  never  will  be  t'  anybody  else 
again.  It's  different  t'  every  man  an7 
woman  an'  child  that  sees  it,  but  t'  all  of  'em 
alike  it's  a  hell  of  a  hole!" 

The  captain's  joke  ended  the  conversa 
tion,  for  the  captain  forthwith  fell  asleep  in 
his  chair. 

When  the  little  train  pulled  up  at  the 
Canyon  station  and  Mason  and  Miss  An- 
struther  alighted,  the  former  looked  about 
him  for  some  sign  of  the  wonder  that  he 
had  been  promised.  He  saw  nothing  but 
216 


THE  MAGIC  OF  A  SUNSET     *     * 

a  few  trees  and  a  flight  of  wide  wooden 
steps  leading  to  a  half-log,  half-board  "ho 
tel."  But  he  was  too  wise  to  comment  upon 
the  commonplace  dreariness  of  the  outlook. 

Perhaps  divining  what  was  passing  in 
his  mind,  Miss  Anstruther  said:  "It's  not 
here.  Let's  have  supper  first.  Aren't  all 
men  more  impressionable  just  after  meals?" 

So  he  followed  her  from  the  rear  into  the 
little,  low-ceiled,  bare-floored  office  of  the 
Bright  Angel  Hotel,  wherefrom  they  were 
conducted  by  a  Japanese  boy  into  the  din 
ing-room. 

"You  see,"  Mason  said,  "I  have  placed 
myself  absolutely  in  your  hands.  You  hold 
the  curtain  cord  and  when  you  give  the 
word  I  shall  open  wide  my  eyes  and  look." 

"It  won't  be  long,"  she  replied  as  a  waiter 
served  the  dessert. 

217 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

They  finished  in  silence.  There  were  less 
than  a  dozen  persons  in  the  dining-room, 
for  the  Grand  Canyon  is  yet  to  be  discov 
ered  by  the  man  who  crosses  the  continent. 
Thus  far  it  is  better  known  in  England  or 
Germany  than  in  America. 

"And  now,  please,  Miss  Anstruther," 
Mason  said,  after  supper,  "has  the  time 
come  to  show  me  this  great  thing  that  I 
came  here  to  see?" 

She  regarded  him  steadily  across  the 
table,  a  little  wrinkle  between  her  eyes. 

"Do  you  feel  quite  ready?"  she  asked. 

"Quite,"  he  answered. 

"Come,  then." 

She  led  the  way  quickly  out  of  the  dining- 
room,  through  the  little  office  and  out  upon 
the  porch.  She  leaped  lightly  to  the  ground 
and  ran  to  a  low  paling  perhaps  twenty  feet 
218 


THE  MAGIC  OF  A  SUNSET     *     * 

from  the  door.     There  she  turned,  threw 
out  her  arms,  and 

"Look!"  she  cried. 

Mason's  face  went  tense ;  his  jaw  shot  for 
ward,  and  his  hands  clenched.  "My  God!" 
he  murmured  reverently. 

What  he  beheld  was,  in  all  its  sublime 
crudity,  a  piece  of  God's  unfinished  work, 
the  rough  moulds  wherein  He  cast  the 
mountains.  And  the  moulds  were  of  myr 
iad  forms. 

Across  a  sea  of  peaks  rose  the  perfect 
dome  of  a  Titanic  temple  gilded  by  the  sink 
ing  sun.  About  it  were  thrones  suited  to 
the  gods  that  dwelt  on  high  Olympus, 
backed  by  granite  arras  painted  like  a  tap 
estry.  The  varied  colors  of  the  rocks  were 
so  merged  and  melted  by  the  lowering  sun 
as  to  form  what  seemed  a  frozen  rainbow. 
219 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

Gradually  Mason  lowered  his  eyes. 

Down,  down,  down,  a  never-ending  dis 
tance  from  his  feet  he  made  out  little 
clumps  of  green  that  he  took  to  be  grass,  but 
that  he  was  later  to  learn  were  willow  trees. 
There  the  shadows  were  deepening.  Above, 
the  light  still  played.  Off  to  the  east,  an 
immeasurable  distance,  the  purple  of  even 
ing  was  rising;  straight  across  the  ragged 
chasm  lay  a  bar  of  silver  light,  deflected 
from  a  western  peak.  In  the  further  west 
the  sun  poised  like  a  great  golden  wafer  on 
a  mountaintop.  The  whites,  the  pinks,  the 
reds,  the  greens — all  the  colors  in  the 
abounding  rock  seemed  to  take  on  a  lumin- 
ancy  of  their  own,  combining  to  produce 
an  orgy  of  color  that  was  suffused,  perme 
ated  and  glorified  by  a  cast  of  pale-rose 
light. 

220 


THE  MAGIC  OF  A  SUNSET     *     * 

Where  Mason  and  the  girl  stood,  even 
now  the  twilight  was  deepening.  Neither 
spoke. 

To  Mason,  leaning  upon  the  paling  with 
folded  arms,  there  came  an  overpowering 
sense  of  the  divine  majesty  of  the  work  upon 
which  he  looked.  His  sense  of  this  rose 
even  above  his  appreciation  of  the  beauty 
of  the  work.  For  a  long  time  he  dared  not 
trust  his  voice.  He  felt  something  of  the 
emotion  he  often  had  experienced  when  lis 
tening  to  a  great  orchestra's  interpretation 
of  a  masterpiece  of  music,  only  infinitely 
intensified. 

The  girl  beside  him  touched  his  arm 
lightly.  He  turned  to  her. 

"Come,"  she  said. 

"To-morrow,  if  you  like,"  she  ventured 
as  they  walked  away,  "we'll  go  down  there, 

221 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

with  a  guide.    I  only  wish  you  might  see  the 
sun  rise  over  the  Canyon." 

And  he  did.  He  told  the  Japanese  boy 
to  call  him  for  the  spectacle.  So  Miss  An- 
struther,  much  to  her  surprise,  found  him 
ready  in  the  morning  when  she  appeared. 


222 


Down! 


XIV.  DOWNl 

1ASON  was  wearing  the  little  camera 

slung  over  his  shoulder  by  a  strap. 
"I  don't  know  what  I  am  taking  it  for," 
he  said.    "But  I  dare  say  it's  quite  the  thing, 
isn't  it?" 

"Always,"  Miss  Anstruther  assured  him. 
He  had  never  seen  her  dressed  as  she  was 
now,  but  he  knew  she  had  never  appeared 
more  charming. 

"You  are  surprised  by  my  costume?"  she 
suggested. 

"Not  surprised  exactly,"  he  replied,  "but 
— ,"  he  hesitated.    "I  should  like  to  tell 
you  just  'what  I  think,"  he  added  boldly. 
She  let  fall  her  eyes. 

"Perhaps   you'd   better   not,"   she   said. 
"But  this  costume  explains  my  disappear- 
225 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

ance  night  before  last.    I  was  'in  the  bag 
gage  car  ahead/  as  the  song  has  it." 

"In  the  baggage  car!"  exclaimed  Mason. 

"I  knew  you'd  be  shocked,"  she  went  on. 
"But  it  was  necessary,  absolutely  necessary. 
You  see  all  my  luggage  was  checked 
through  to  'Frisco  and  these  riding  togs 
were  in  one  of  my  trunks.  I  didn't  want 
them  all  thrown  off  back  at  Williams,  and 
for  the  life  of  me,  I  couldn't  remember 
which  trunk  these  things  were  in.  So  I 
bribed  the  baggageman  with  a  series  of  my 
most  charming  smiles  to  let  me  go  through 
every  one  of  them  to  find  the  things  I 
wanted.  Fortunately,  however,  they  were 
in  the  first  trunk." 

Mason  regarded  her  curiously.  "I'm 
glad  you  found  them,"  he  said,  "for  you 
look  ripping." 

226 


DOWN! 


It  was  the  boldest  speech  he  had  ever 
made  to  her  and  he  feared  the  result.  He 
need  not  have  feared,  however,  for  Miss 
Anstruther  replied,  simply:  "And  I'm  glad 
you  think  so." 

The  hat  she  wore  was  one  of  the  regula 
tion  Stetson's  of  the  West,  with  a  leather 
band  and  a  thong  of  buckskin  tied  behind, 
under  the  low  knot  of  her  soft  hair.  About 
the  loose  collar  of  her  navy  blue,  white-but 
toned  shirtwaist  was  jauntily  tied  a  broad, 
sheer  scarf  of  scarlet  silk.  From  the  big- 
buckled  buckskin  belt  drawn  close  around 
her  waist  hung,  severely,  a  divided  skirt  of 
tan  whip-cord  with  patch  pockets  at  the 
sides,  secured  by  brass-buttoned  flaps.  The 
skirt  reached  little  more  than  midway  be 
tween  her  knees  and  ankles  and  her  riding 
boots  were  of  varnished  tan  leather.  Over 
227 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

her  arm,  she  carried  the  long,  loose  coat 
that  she  had  worn  throughout  the  journey. 
In  this  costume  the  appearance  she  pre 
sented  was  enough  to  set  the  heart  of  any 
man  dancing;  more  than  enough  to  set  Ma 
son's  to  throbbing  violently. 

"Have  you  seen  the  guide?"  she  asked. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Come,  you  must;  there  are  the  horses." 
She  started  on. 

Mason  turned.  A  little  way  from  the 
hotel  near  the  head  of  the  trail  a  rough- 
garbed  man  in  high-heeled  boots  stood  at 
the  converging  heads  of  three  cow-ponies. 
The  man's  back  was  toward  them,  but  as 
they  approached,  he  turned. 

"Good  morning,  Pete!"  Miss  Anstruther 
cried. 

Off  came  the  wide  slouch  hat  from  the 
228 


DOWN! 


man's  yellow  head.  His  eyes  lighted  and 
his  teeth  showed  through  the  curtain  of  his 
drooping,  tawny  mustache. 

"Well,  howdy  do,"  he  greeted  her,  and 
held  out  a  big  hand. 

"Mr.  Mason,"  Miss  Anstruther  said, 
"this  is  Mr.  Turner,—  Pete  Turner,—  he's 
the  man  who  saved  my  life  here  on  the  trail  ; 
you  remember  I  told  you." 

The  men's  eyes  met. 

"Th'  lady's  some  mistaken,  Mr.  Mason," 
the  guide  said,  smiling  —  "Beggin'  her  pard- 
ing,  it  was  jus'  th'  other  way  'round.  She 
saved  mine." 

"Pete,  how  dare  you?" 

Turner  wagged  his  head.    "Oh,  all  right, 
then  you  didn't,"  he  said;  "but  you  did  jus' 
the  same,"  he  added  under  his  breath  to 
Mason,  and  laughed  slyly. 
229 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

"I'm  going  to  have  this  calico  pony," 
Miss  Anstruther  decided. 

"Then  you  take  this'n,  Mr.  Mason."  Tur 
ner  indicated  the  third  horse,  a  sorrel  with 
a  hang-dog  cast  of  countenance  and  white 
stockings. 

Mason  mounted  awkwardly  from  the 
wrong  side.  The  pony  swung  his  head 
about  and  gave  him  a  glance  filled  with  re 
proof.  Pete  coughed. 

Standing  on  the  left  side  of  the  calico 
pony  Miss  Anstruther  had  chosen,  the 
guide  stooped.  In  his  right  hand  she 
placed  a  foot.  As  lightly  as  though  she 
were  a  ball  of  down,  he  tossed  her  up ;  there 
was  an  instant's  flash  of  varnished  boot  in 
the  sunlight  and  she  sat  calmly  astride  the 
horse.  Turner  vaulted  into  his  saddle  and 
the  descent  of  the  trail  began. 
230 


DOWN!        "**        •**        ^         ^         ^ 

The  evening  before,  in  the  purple  twi 
light,  and  this  morning,  in  the  golden  glory 
of  the  new  day,  Mason  had  viewed  the 
Canyon  as  one  might  view  a  great  spec 
tacle.  The  awe  with  which  he  then  was 
filled  was  far  less  than  that  which  surged 
upon  him  now  as  he  realized  that  he  was, 
for  a  little  moment,  to  become  a  part  of  this 
Titanic  show. 

The  guide  had  ridden  on  ahead  and  he 
had  fallen  in  line  behind  Miss  Anstruther, 
bringing  up  the  little  cavalcade.  He 
obeyed  the  guide's  injunction  not  to  use 
the  reins  as  the  horse  knew  the  trail  better 
than  he  did,  so  looping  them  loosely  over 
the  saddle  horn,  he  looked  about  him. 

The  first  descent,  a  matter  of  perhaps 
fifty  feet,  was  precipitous.  Involuntarily 
he  leaned  back  in  the  saddle.  The  wise 
231 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

trail  horse  beneath  him  did  not  shamble  as 
another  might  have  done.  Rather,  he  set 
tled  back  on  his  haunches  and,  stiffening  at 
an  angle  his  thin  fore-legs,  slid  down  the 
steep  decline. 

At  the  bottom,  Mason  sat  up  and  shiv 
ered.  His  jaw  was  set  and  he  gripped  the 
horn  of  the  immense  cowboy  saddle  in 
which  he  sat.  In  his  fear,  he  was  glad  that 
he  had  fallen  behind  the  calico  pony,  for  he 
was  a  little  ashamed  of  the  nervousness  that 
possessed  him. 

For  a  way,  the  trail  zigzagged  back  and 
forth — but  always  descending — across  the 
face  of  the  rock.  Mason  twisted  in  his  sad 
dle  and  looked  back  along  the  trail.  For 
thirty  feet  lay  the  way  clear  to  his  sight;  be 
yond  there  appeared  nothing.  Pie  looked 
ahead  again.  The  guide  and  Miss  An- 
232 


DOWN!         ^         ^         ^         ^         "^ 

struther  had  vanished.  At  a  point  forty 
feet  in  front  of  him  the  trail  appeared  sud 
denly  to  end  against  a  sheer  wall  of  rock. 
He  was  alone  in  the  silence. 

He  remembered  a  tale  he  had  once  heard 
a  traveler  tell  of  a  certain  cave  in  Greece 
wherein  the  stillness  is  such  that  one  may 
hear  one's  blood  pounding  through  his 
veins.  He  felt  that  he  knew  now  what  such 
silence  must  be  like.  It  was  a  new  impres 
sion  and  one  that  he  could  never  forget. 

He  was  approaching  that  point  where 
the  trail  had  seemed  to  disappear.  It  looped 
the  rounded  corner  of  the  granite  wall  and 
descended.  He  looked  down.  Two  levels 
below  were  the  guide  and  Miss  Anstruther. 
As  he  appeared,  they  shouted  up  at  him.  It 
was  only  an  instant;  ten  steps  and  they  were 
blotted  out  again. 

233 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     ^ 

The  trail  skirted  a  cliff  hundreds  of  feet 
high,  and  edged  into  a  corner  made  by  two 
towering  walls  of  rose-colored  rock;  a  cor 
ner  as  rectangular  as  the  corner  of  a  room. 
His  horse  slipped  and  Mason's  heart  leaped 
into  his  mouth;  but  the  careful  animal  at 
once  regained  his  sure  foothold  on  the  nar 
row  pathway.  Again  the  descent  became 
precipitous,  again  he  was  compelled  to  lean 
back  in  the  saddle  as  the  animal  slid  to  the 
next  level.  From  somewhere  below  was 
borne  up  to  him  a  ringing  shout: 

"You're  goin'  'round  Cape  Horn  in  a 
minute!" 

His  grip  on  the  pommel  of  the  saddle 
tightened.  His  horse,  independent  of  con 
trol,  plodded  patiently  on. 

It  appeared  to  Mason  that  he  was  now 
traversing  the  least  dangerous  portion  of 

234 


DOWN!         ^         ^         ^         ^         ^ 

the  trail  thus  far.  The  horse  started  for 
ward  suddenly.  The  edge  of  the  plateau 
appeared  a  little  way  ahead  but  the  horse 
kept  straight  on.  And  then  Mason  experi 
enced  a  shock;  a  mingled  sensation  of  hope 
lessness  and  faith.  The  trail,  forming  an 
acute  angle,  proceeded  to  a  sharp  edge  of 
towering  rock  and  passed  around  the  point. 
Breathlessly  Mason  threw  back  his  head 
and  looked  up.  A  thousand  feet,  straight  to 
the  dome  of  heaven,  rose  that  edge  of  rock. 
He  quickly  lowered  his  gaze  and  looked 
down.  Sixteen  hundred  feet  below  him  the 
rock  descended  sheer.  Then,  shutting  his 
eyes,  for  the  sight  made  him  dizzy,  he  real 
ized  that  he  was  riding  on  a  shelf  of  granite 
less  than  thirty  inches  wide,  with  his  right 
stirrup  scraping  the  wall,  and  his  left  hang 
ing  over  the  most  awful  abyss  on  earth. 

235 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

Involuntarily  he  inclined  his  body  in 
ward,  as  though  the  better  to  maintain  the 
balance  of  the  animal  he  was  riding.  On 
the  next  level  Miss  Anstruther  awaited 
him.  His  face  was  white,  a  cold  perspira 
tion  stood  in  beads  upon  his  brow. 

"Perhaps  I  should  have  told  you,"  she 
said,  "but  it  is  quite  safe;  the  horses  know 
the  trail  so  well." 

He  was  glad  of  her  assurance,  but  he  was 
more  than  grateful  to  her  for  the  way  she 
gave  it  him.  He  nodded,  but  did  not  speak. 
They  proceeded  then  in  closer  file. 

"I  think  we  had  better  not  go  to  the  riv 
er,"  Miss  Anstruther  said,  "there's  really 
nothing  down  there ;  you  have  to  throw  your 
head  'way  back  and  look  straight  up  to  see 
the  sky.  The  plateau  is  better.  There's  lots 
to  be  seen  from  there." 
236 


DOWN!        •*        •*        •*•        •*        "* 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  "you  know  best" 
Close  together  though  they  kept,  there 
were  still  moments  when  each  of  the  riders 
was  lost  to  the  sight  of  the  others.  One 
such  occurred  so  suddenly  that  Mason 
gasped.  It  was  for  one  instant  as  though 
he  were  in  a  deep,  wide  well ;  then  quite  as 
suddenly  a  point  was  gained  wheref  rom  he 
could  look  down  upon  the  tents  of  the  In 
dian  Gardens  where  they  were  to  rest  He 
had  seen  these  tents  from  the  Rim  that 
morning.  They  had  appeared,  perhaps,  as 
large  as  tea-cups.  Now  he  perceived  that 
they  were  quite  the  size  of  the  sea-side  cot 
tages  with  which  he  was  familiar  back 
East. 


237 


The  Soul  of  the  Canyon 


XV.  THE  SOUL  OF  THE  CANYON 

aRRIVING  at  the  tents  after  half  an 
hour,  Mason  breathed  a  sigh  of  deep 
relief  and  dismounted  eagerly.  His  legs 
were  like  whalebone.  He  sank  limp  and 
weak  beneath  the  sheltering  canopy  of  the 
wall-less  tent.  Miss  Anstruther  appeared 
as  fresh  as  when  starting  out  in  the  morn 
ing.  Pete  led  the  horses  into  the  shade  of 
a  clump  of  willows,  the  same  willows  that, 
from  the  Rim  of  the  Canyon,  Mason  had 
taken  to  be  bunch  grass. 

Of  a  sudden,  the  young  man  became  very 
thirsty  and  looked  about  him.  Swaying 
from  the  cords  by  which  it  was  suspended 
from  the  ridge  of  the  canopy  was  an  ordin 
ary  flour  sack,  its  mouth  held  open  by  an 
inserted  hoop  of  wood.  Mason  saw  Miss 
241 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     ^ 

Anstruther  go  to  it,  and,  taking  up  a  cup 
from  the  bench  beneath,  fill  it  with  water 
from  the  sack.  He  stared  at  her,  wide-eyed. 

"Don't  you  want  a  drink?"  she  asked 
him. 

"Rather,"  he  replied.  And  she  came  to 
him  with  a  filled  cup.  He  drank  the  cool 
water  eagerly.  Glancing  from  her  dancing 
eyes  to  the  swaying  bag,  he  said: 

"This  is  the  first  time  I've  ever  seen  wa 
ter  kept  in  a  flour  sack." 

She  laughed. 

"It's  the  way  they  do  it  in  the  desert," 
she  explained.  "I  don't  know  the  physics 
of  it,  but  the  evaporation  has  something  to 
do  with  it.  The  Indians  keep  water  for 
days  in  hanging  bags  and  baskets,  and  it's 
a  sort  of  social  law  among  them  that  every 
one  who  passes  the  bag  shall  sway  it  slight- 
242 


THE  SOUL  OF  THE  CANYON   *  * 

ly.  The  evaporation  does  the  rest  and,  of 
course,  keeps  it  cool." 

It  was  not  so  very  clear  to  Mason,  but  he 
could  not  doubt  his  eyes,  much  less  his 
throat,  for  there  hung  the  bag,  and  had  he 
not  drunk  of  its  cool,  delicious  contents? 

"Aren't  you  hot?"  Miss  Anstruther  in 
quired.  She  had  removed  her  cowboy  hat 

and  was  fanning  herself  with  it. 

j 
Now  that  she  had  mentioned  it,  Mason 

was  hot,  but  he  had  not  thought  of  it  before. 
"You  see,"  she  said,  "we're  rather  nearer 
the  center  of  the  earth  down  here  than  we 
were  at  the  Rim.  It  is  always  hot  here;  a 
lot  hotter  at  the  river.  It  never  snows 
down  here,  either.  It  may  be  snowing  ever 
so  hard  up  at  the  hotel,  but  before  the  flakes 
reach  where  we  are  they  become  rain. 
Captain  Hance  will  tell  you  about  it." 
243 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

After  they  had  rested  awhile,  she  rose 
and  went  to  the  door  of  the  tent. 

"Come  out  and  look,"  she  said. 

He  left  the  camera  on  the  bench  and  fol 
lowed  her. 

On  every  side  save  one,  towered  walls  of 
rock,  their  varying  strata  as  delicately  tint 
ed  as  a  flower.  At  his  feet,  the  grass  and 
small  bushes  were  thick  and  green,  but  all 
above  was  richly  colorous.  The  sun,  creep 
ing  toward  the  zenith,  was  reflected  from 
wall  to  wall,  and  pinnacle  to  pinnacle.  The 
brilliancy  was  dazzling. 

Mason  looked  of!  across  the  plateau. 
The  further  Rim  was  apparently  as  far 
away  as  it  had  seemed  the  night  before  from 
up^  above.  Distances  were  all  awry. 
Points  of  rock  that  looked  to  be  a  long  way 
off  were  really  near  at  hand,  while  other 
244 


THE  SOUL  OF  THE  CANYON   *>  * 

points  that  he  would  have  sworn  were  a 
moment's  walk  away,  were  miles.  It  was 
the  light  and  its  reflection  from  different 
angles  that  produced  these  illusions  of  dis 
tance. 

For  a  time,  in  utter  silence,  they  enjoyed 
the  beauty  and  the  brilliancy. 

"Is  it  much  further  to  where  we  are  go 
ing?"  Mason  then  asked. 

"No,  a  few  minutes'  ride,"  Miss  An- 
struther  replied. 

Soon  the  guide  appeared  with  the  horses 
from  out  the  clump  of  willows;  and  they 
mounted  and  went  on. 

Over  the  round  rocks  with  which  the 
trail  across  the  boulder  field  was  strewn,  the 
heat  quivered  as  above  a  stove.  Mason 
asked  the  guide  if  he  had  any  idea  what  the 
temperature  might  be. 

245 

16 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

Pete  gazed  off  across  the  rocks,  then  up 
at  the  sky. 

"Oh,  mebbe  a  hundred  an'  twelve  or  thir 
teen,"  he  ventured. 

Miss  Anstruther  turned  in  the  saddle, 
and  regarded  Mason,  smiling.  He  shook 
his  head. 

"It's  so  dry,"  she  said;  "if  it  weren't  we 
couldn't  ride  out  here." 

A  little  way  further  and  Turner  dis 
mounted,  flinging  the  reins  over  the  horse's 
head,  the  approved  method  of  "tying"  a 
cow-pony. 

"Here  we  are,"  he  said. 

Mason  assisted  Miss  Anstruther  to  dis 
mount.  They  followed  the  guide  among 
the  immense  boulders,  and  over  a  low  ledge 
to  the  very  edge  of  the  plateau. 

"Oh,  this  is  the  glorious  place!"  Miss 
246 


THE  MAGIC  OF  A  SUNSET     ^     * 

Anstruther  cried  emotionally.  "And  now 
do  you  understand,"  she  added,  her  face 
alight,  "why  I  sometimes  am  hungry  for  it, 
back  East,  in  Boston  or  New  York?" 

Mason  did  not  reply.  His  every  sense 
responded  to  the  call  of  his  surroundings. 
Across  the  chasm  at  his  feet  rose  a  sheer 
black  wall  of  granite,  rusty  here  and  there 
as  though  it  were  of  iron.  To  the  right  and 
left  reared  lofty  pinnacles  of  red  and  amber 
surmounted  with  caps  of  white.  And  be 
low,  a  thousand  feet,  the  roar  of  its  rapids 
reduced,  by  the  height  at  which  they  stood 
above  it,  to  a  lulling  croon,  leaped  the  Col 
orado,  a  red  river  of  mud,  the  Vampire  of 
the  Desert,  slowly  eating  its  way  into  the 
very  vitals  of  the  earth. 

He  turned  and  looked  into  Miss  An- 
struther's  eyes.  For  an  instant  neither  spoke. 
247 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     ^ 

Then  he  said:  "You  want  to  know  what  I 
think — what  the  impression  is?"  He  hesi 
tated.  "I  can't  tell  you."  His  voice  shook 
and  he  looked  away. 

Who,  in  all  truth,  was  he,  he  asked  him 
self  that  instant,  to  have  an  opinion  in  the 
face  of  these  things? 

Turner  had  gone  back  to  where  the 
horses  were.  Mason  and  the  girl  beside 
him  were  alone  in  this  magic  world  of  si 
lence. 

There  came  to  Mason  then  an  over 
whelming  sense  of  the  little  part  his  life 
was  playing  in  the  game  of  Time.  Ages 
had  dawned  and  died.  All  the  glories  that 
were  the  ancient  world's  had  faded  like  the 
fancies  of  a  dream.  Alexandria,  Nineveh, 
Thebes,  Babylon,  Rome;  all  the  mighty 
empires  of  the  East  had  stood  their  time  to 
248 


THE  SOUL  OF  THE  CANYON   ^    ^ 

flaunt  before  mankind  their  tinsel,  then  had 
gone  back  to  earth  again.  Yet  here  about 
him,  now,  still  towered  these  ancient  tem 
ples  of  God,  the  same  yesterday,  today  and 
forever, — mute,  insensate  symbols  of  eter 
nity. 

And  yet,  in  the  strength  of  his  youth,  he 
knew  that  because  of  his  love  for  this  girl 
here  beside  him,  he  was  one  with  these 
peaks  and  pinnacles,  for  this  love  of  his  was 
of  an  eternity  equal  to  their  own.  He 
dashed  a  moisture  from  his  eyes,  and,  turn 
ing  to  the  girl,  they  fell  to  talking  of  little 
things. 

Miss  Anstruther  asked  for  the  camera. 
He  had  left  it  in  the  tent  back  at  the  Gar 
dens.  Turner,  who  had  joined  them  with 
the  bags  of  luncheon,  offered  to  return  for 
it.  When  he  had  disappeared  among  the 
249 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     ^ 

boulders,  and  they  had  seated  themselves 
on  one  of  the  huge  rounded  rocks,  Mason 
turned  again  to  the  girl  beside  him. 

"Miss  Anstruther,"  he  said,  "will  you  let 

me  speak  to  you  of of of  something 

that  is  quite  serious,  that 1  mean  that 

may  be  quite  serious  to  both  of  us?" 

"To  me?"  she  wonderingly  inquired,  and 
in  her  wide  eyes  there  was  no  dissembling 
of  surprise. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I've  meant,  indeed,  I've 

tried  to  talk  to  you  about  it  several oh, 

half  a  dozen  times,  perhaps,  since  we 

since  you  and  I  left  Chicago." 

She  was  looking  away  from  him  now, 
across  the  chasm. 

Mason  glanced  back  over  his  shoulder 
quickly.  Pete  was  quite  out  of  sight. 

"Miss  Anstruther — Sibyl — I  love  you — 
250 


TVE  TRIED  TO  TALK  ABOUT  IT  HALF  A  DOZEN  TIMES" 


THE  SOUL  OF  THE  CANYON   ^  * 

I  love  you  so  dearly,"  he  pulled  himself  to 
gether.  "Sibyl,  will  you  marry  me?" 

He  had  not  given  her  time  to  think,  for, 
after  the  stammering  preamble,  his  ques 
tion  had  been  fired  at  her  point-blank,  in  a 
way,  it  may  be  said  in  passing,  that  would 
have  delighted  Mason,  senior,  whatever  he 
might  have  thought  of  the  proceeding  as  a 
whole.  He  moved  nearer  the  girl,  and  eag 
erly  seized  her  hand. 

"Will  you?"  he  begged. 

She  turned  to  him  then,  and  her  eyes 
were  tender. 

aMr.  Mason,"  she  began,  but  he  looked 
so  hurt  that  she  added — "Hal,  then,"  and 
continued  in  quite  the  conventional  way: 

"Don't  think  I  don't  believe  in  you,  I  do — 

i 

dear,  but  let  me  think,  won't  you?  I  shan't 

tell  you,  Hal,  that  I  don't  love  you.    Per- 

251 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     ^ 

haps  I  do,  but  down  here,  at  the  edge  of  this 
great  chasm — what  I  might  do  or  say  down 
here  I  cannot  hold  myself  responsible  for. 
It  is  always  like  that  when  I  am  here;  the 
bigness,  the  silence,  and  the  awfulness  of  it 
all  overpower  me.  One  instant  I  want  to 
cry  and  another  I  want  to  laugh." 

She  took  his  hand  in  both  hers  and  gazed 
deeply  into  his  clear,  blue  eyes.  "Hal,  it 
wasn't  quite  fair  of  you  to  ask  me  down 
here,"  she  pleaded,  with  a  little,  pathetic 
smile. 

"I  think  I  understand,"  he  replied,  quiet 
ly,  and  withdrew  his  hand.  "But  I  love  you 
so,  Sibyl,  I've  loved  you  ever  since  that 
morning  we  saw  each  other  in  the  car — yes, 
before  that.  I  knew  I  loved  you  when  I 
met  you  at  Mrs.  Worrington's  for  the  first 
time." 

252 


THE  SOUL  OF  THE  CANYON   ^  ^ 

"Daisy  is  such  a  dear,"  she  put  in. 

"Perhaps  I  shouldn't  have,"  he  ran  on, 
"you  know  I'm  not  what  you'd  call  inde 
pendent.  I've  been  in  the  Governor's  em 
ploy  since  leaving  Harvard,  and  what  I 
have  he  has  given  me,  really.  This  trip, 
even,  is  just  a  matter  of  the  Governor's 
business — that  is,  it  was  meant  to  be  that, 
but  now  I've  made  it  my  own,  for  you  are 
here,  dear.  Perhaps,  I  have  been  unfair, 
Sibyl,  but  you  know  my  heart  now,  and  that 
it  belongs  to  you.  I  don't  think  I  can  wait 
long  for  your  answer — I  don't,  really,  dear 
— I  can't.  Tell  me,  won't  you?  Tell  me 
tonight — before  we  go  on.  Tell  me  here. 
Don't  you  think  you  can?" 

He  had  spoken  so  quietly  yet  so  eagerly 
that  she  was  quite  moved  and  her  eyes, 
when  she  looked  at  him,  were  misty. 
253 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

"I'll  tell  you  tonight,"  she  promised,  very 
low.  "Let  me  think  till  then." 

She  leaned  over  the  edge  as  she  spoke,  and 
looked  down. 

"Oh,  see!"  she  cried,  clutching  his  arm. 
"Look!  Down  there!  See  that  poor,  lone 
some  little  white  flower." 

Their  heads  touched  an  instant  as  they 
leaned  together  over  the  chasm's  brink. 

"I've  never  seen  a  flower  here  before," 
she  said. 

"Would  you  like  it?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"So  much,"  she  answered.  Then  she 
straightened  up.  "How  absurd!"  she  ex 
claimed.  "It  might  as  well  be  a  million 
miles  away  as  down  there." 

At  a  glance  Mason  had  perceived  what 
he  took  to  be  a  way  of  descending  to  where 
the  little  blossom  was. 

254 


THE  SOUL  OF  THE  CANYON   *  ^ 

"I'll  get  it,"  he  said,  and  before  she 
could  throw  out  her  arm  to  restrain  him  or 
even  utter  a  cry,  he  had  slid  forward  and 
dropped  over  the  edge  of  the  rock. 

As  he  disappeared,  the  girl  pressed  her 
hands  to  her  breast  and  listened.  Then 
everything  wavered  before  her  eyes.  She 
was  growing  sick  and  faint.  With  an  al 
most  unconscious  effort,  she  pulled  herself 
together,  and  leaning  forward,  looked 
down.  Perhaps  twelve  feet  below  the  edge, 
standing  upon  a  frail  point  of  rock  that 
projected  not  more  than  ten  inches  from  the 
face  of  the  wall,  was  Mason.  One  hand 
clutched  a  second  jut  of  rock  and  midway 
between  his  waist  and  knees  was  still  an 
other.  At  his  feet,  on  a  tiny  shelf,  nodded 
the  little  white  blossom  of  his  quest. 

The  girl  did  not  call  down  to  him,  nor 
255 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     ^ 

did  he  look  up.  She  saw  him  release  his 
hold  upon  the  jutting  point  of  rock  and, 
sinking  upon  his  heels,  grasp  the  one  below. 
Then,  with  his  free  hand,  he  reached  down 
and  plucked  the  flower.  A  thousand  feet 
below  him  leaped  the  river. 

Miss  Anstruther  drew  back.  She  tried 
to  cry  out  but  her  voice  was  frozen  in  her 
throat.  Irresistibly  she  felt  herself  drawn 
again  to  the  edge.  Mason  had  managed  to 
secure  a  foothold  on  the  point  above  the 
one  on  which  he  had  stood  to  pluck  the 
flower.  His  head  was,  perhaps,  five  feet 
below  the  level  on  which  she  stood.  He 
could  climb  no  higher.  As  it  was,  he  was 
clinging  by  one  hand,  the  fingers  of  which 
he  had  inserted  into  a  fissure  in  the  rock. 
It  was  impossible  for  him  to  look  up  and 
preserve  his  balance. 

256 


THE  SOUL  OF  THE  CANYON   *  •* 

"Sibyl,"  he  called,  clearly;  "Sibyl  — " 

"Yes — what  is  it?"  she  answered  in  a 
breathless  whisper. 

"I  don't  believe  I  can  get  up  to  the  top 
without  your  help."  His  voice  was  calm 
and  cold. 

She  found  her  own  voice  then.  "Can  you 
hang  on?"  she  cried — "only  for  a  moment 
— I'll  run  back  over  the  plateau,  Pete 
should  be  here  now." 

"No,  no,  please  don't,"  he  called  up  to 
her,  "I'd  rather  you  wouldn't.  You've  that 
long  coat  of  yours,  haven't  you?  Knot  the 
sleeves  of  it  around  your  wrists  and  drop  it 
over,  then  brace  yourself  against  the  rock 
up  there.  I  think  it  is  quite  simple." 

Swiftly,  fearfully,  she  did  as  he  bade 
her.  He  felt  the  hem  of  the  garment  brush 
across  his  hair. 

257 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     ^ 

"Do  you  think  you  can  hold  it?"  he 
called. 

"Yes." 

Every  muscle  in  her  body  tightened. 

Mason  had  drawn  his  fingers  from  the 
fissure  in  the  rock  and  clutched  the  coat.  It 
became  taut.  Every  ounce  of  the  girl's 
strength  was  necessary  to  sustain  the  weight. 
She  shut  her  eyes.  She  felt  herself  being 
drawn  slowly  to  the  edge  over  which  she 
must  plunge.  And  then,  of  a  sudden,  the 
coat  hung  loose  from  her  hands.  She  sank 
back,  and  covering  her  face,  sobbed  uncon 
trollably.  A  voice  sounded  above  her,  and 
she  looked  up.  Then  a  sharp,  startled  cry 
escaped  her. 

Mason  stood  before  her,  and  dangling 
from  between  his  teeth  was  the  little  white 
flower.  He  held  it  out  to  her,  smiling. 

258 


THE  SOUL  OF  THE  CANYON   ^  ^ 

Her  eyes  were  radiant.  Her  breath  came 
quick  and  short. 

"Hal!"  she  cried. 

Perhaps  she  would  have  flung  herself  in 
to  his  trembling  arms  that  instant  had  not  a 
voice  behind  her  said: 

"Here's  the  camera." 

She  turned  slowly. 

"Ain't  you  et  yet?"  Pete  inquired. 

A  message  flashed  from  the  girl's  eyes  to 
Mason's. 

"No,"  Mason  answered,  "we  were  wait 
ing  for  you." 

So,  on  a  sheltered  ledge,  they  all  ate 
luncheon  together  from  the  paper  bags. 
There  were  sandwiches  and  pickles  and 
cheese  and  hard-boiled  eggs  and  slices  of 
cold  ham.  And  a  little  green  lizard — the 
friend  of  every  Canyon  tourist — smelling 
259 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

the  food,  crept  out  upon  the  ledge  and  back 
again  stealthily,  with  a  bit  of  the  ham; 
while  the  sleek  gray  rat,  his  companion, 
dined  sumptuously  off  a  bit  of  cheese. 


260 


Capitulation 


XVI.  CAPITULATION 

[ASON  and  Miss  Anstruther  were  sit 
ting  on  a  bench  at  the  paling.  She 
was  leaning  forward,  her  elbows  on  her 
knees,  her  chin  in  her  hands. 

The  purple  night  was  rising  in  the  east. 
To  the  west  the  peaks  were  gilded  by  the 
sinking  sun.  Across  the  Canyon,  straight 
before  them,  lay  a  bar  of  silver  light,  the 
last  of  day. 

"What  a  wonderful,  wonderful  day  it 
has  been,"  she  said,  almost  as  if  to  herself. 

He  did  not  reply  at  once,  nor  turn  to  her. 

"Of  what  are  you  thinking?"  she  asked. 

He  shook  his  head,  then  answered: 

"Of  the  mystery  of  it  all.    I  understand 
now  why  you  begged  me  not  to  speak  of 
what  lay  in  my  heart  this  afternoon,  and 
yet  this  shall  always  be  my  holy  day." 
263 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

"I  am  glad,"  she  answered  simply.  Then, 
"See!"  she  cried  suddenly,  "the  sun!" 

It  had  dropped  behind  a  ragged  peak 
which  stood  forth  in  royal  purple  against 
the  aurora  of  golden  light.  The  wide  beam 
of  white  that,  an  instant  before,  had 
bridged  the  Canyon  melted.  The  pinks  in 
the  rocks  deepened. 

"The  glory  of  it  all!"  the  girl  exclaimed. 

There  approached  them,  from  the  hotel 
behind,  one  of  the  Japanese  bell-boys.  He 
appeared  so  suddenly  at  Miss  Anstruther's 
elbow  that  she  jumped. 

"Oh,  how  you  frightened  me!"  she  cried 
Mason  glared  at  the  smiling  boy,  who  held 
out  a  telegram.  Miss  Anstruther  looked 
from  him  to  Mason,  then  down  at  the  yel 
low  envelope. 

"For  me?"  she  asked,  a  light  of  puzzle- 
264 


CAPITULATION 


ment  in  her  eyes,  as  she  took  the  message 
and  the  boy  departed.  "Oh,  it's  probably 
from  Daisy  Worrington,"  she  decided.  "I 
remember  I  wired  her  I'd  stop  over  here." 

She  tore  open  the  envelope.  The  message 
was  brief.  She  read  it  through  twice.  A 
flush  mantled  her  cheek.  Mason  was  star 
ing  blankly  across  the  Canyon.  Miss  An- 
struther  let  the  yellow  sheet  fall  into  her  lap 
and  drew  her  lower  lip  between  her  teeth. 
Then  she  held  out  the  telegram  to  Mason, 
saying,  "Perhaps  I  should  show  you  this." 

With  a  single  glance  he  read  the  type 
written  line.  It  contained  a  proposal  of 
marriage  and  was  signed  Frederick  Town- 
send.  He  turned  his  head;  the  girl  beside 
him  was  still  gazing  away  to  the  east. 

"This — this  seems  to  call  for  an  answer," 
he  said,  quietly. 

265 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

She  nodded,  simply,  but  did  not  speak. 

"And  what  is  your  answer  to  be?" 

His  voice  was  quite  calm,  as  calm,  in 
deed,  as  it  had  been  when  he  called  up  to 
her  from  under  the  edge  of  the  rock. 

She  shook  her  head  wearily. 

A  moment  he  hesitated  as  though  in 
doubt,  then  said,  rising: 

"You'll  excuse  me  for  a  moment,  won't 
you?" 

He  did  not  wait  for  her  reply.  He  was 
not  absent  long  and  when  he  returned,  he 
perceived  that  she  had  not  moved. 

"I've — I've  tried  to  help  you,"  he  said. 
"I've  been  so  bold  as  to  prepare  an  answer 
myself — won't  you  read  it  before  I  send  it?" 
And  over  her  shoulder,  he  dropped  a  mes 
sage  sheet. 

The  light  was  fast  ebbing  but  she  could 
266 


CAPITULATION 


distinguish  the  words,  written  in  his  bold, 
even  characters,  quite  clearly. 

"To  Frederick  Townsend, 

"The    Effingham,    Beacon    St.,    Boston, 

Mass. 

"I  have,  today,  announced  my  engage 
ment  to  Mr.  Harold  Mason. 

"Sibyl  Anstruther." 

An  instant  she  hesitated,  then  she  thrust 
the  sheet  back  to  him,  still  without  turning. 

One  of  the  Japanese  boys  chanced  to  be 
passing  at  the  moment. 

"Shall  I  send  it?"  Mason  asked  quickly. 

The  brown  head  before  him  nodded. 

"Boy,"  he  called,  "take  this  wire — and 
here's  a  dollar — tell  the  operator  to  rush  it 
through." 

The  boy  gasped  as  his  fingers  tightened 
around  the  coin,  bowed  to  the  ground,  and 
fled. 

Mason  leaned  forward,  quickly,  eagerly. 
267 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

"Sibyl."     It  was  no  more  than  a  whisper. 

One  of  her  hands  groped  above  her  shoul 
der  until  it  found  his. 

"Sibyl." 

Slowly  her  head  turned.  A  little  vagrant 
curl  by  her  ear  brushed  across  his  face,  for 
they  were  very  close  together.  Into  each 
other's  eyes  they  looked,  and  there  each  read 
the  other's  soul.  The  twilight  was  deep 
about  them.  Sibyl  Anstruther  opened  her 
other  hand,  and  in  the  palm  lay  a  little 
white  flower. 

"Hal,"  she  murmured;  then  — 

— Why  shouldn't  they  have?  Probably 
no  one  saw  them,  nor,  that  instant,  would 
they  have  cared  if  a  million  had  been  look 
ing  on. 


268 


One  Sort  of  Girl 


XVII.  ONE  SORT  OF  GIRL 

next  morning,  after  an  early 
breakfast,  they  were  taken  to 
O'Neill's  Point.  Pete  drove  the  little  calico 
team  over  the  corduroy  road  through  the 
wood.  Mason  and  Miss  Anstruther,  on  the 
back  seat  of  the  canopied  surrey,  were  tossed 
about  like  fishing  floats  in  a  pool.  They 
had  nothing  to  say  during  the  ride,  nor  had 
Pete,  whose  mind  appeared  to  be  concen 
trated  on  his  horses  and  on  the  off  wheels  of 
the  vehicle.  Again  and  again,  the  hubs 
missed  the  tree  trunks  by  a  hair's  breadth 
almost,  and  during  the  greater  part  of  the 
drive  Mason's  heart  was  in  his  mouth.  He 
recalled  stories  he  had  read — and  doubted, 
it  may  be  said  in  passing— of  the  extraor 
dinary  achievements  of  mountain  coach- 
271 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *•     * 

drivers  who  urged  their  horses  to  a  gallop 
along  the  narrow  rock  shelves  that  they 
traversed.  He  thought  those  men,  of  a  day 
long  since  dead,  must  have  passed  their 
spirits  and  their  skill  on  to  the  tawny-haired 
cowboy  who  sat  before  him  now,  rolling 
about  in  his  seat,  the  while  he  called 
shrilly  to  the  plunging  animals. 

It  was  yet  early  when  they  arrived  at  the 
Point,  where  is  to  be  had  what  is,  perhaps, 
the  finest  view  of  the  Canyon  obtainable 
from  any  one  spot.  The  rose  lights  of 
morning  enveloped  the  pinnacles  and  gran 
ite  parapets;  down  where  the  sun  had  not 
yet  crept,  the  purples  were  still  deep  and 
velvety. 

The  cowboy  stood  on  the  very  edge  of  the 
Rim.     He  had  taken  off  his  hat  and  the 
slight  breeze  rumpled  his  thick  hair. 
272 


ONE  SORT  OF  GIRL 


"Does  it  always  look  the  same  to  you?" 
Miss  Anstruther  asked. 

He  did  not  turn,  but  continued  to  gaze 
across  the  mighty  gorge. 

"No;  not  always.  In  fact  not  ever  the 
same,"  he  answered.  "That's  why  I'm  al 
ways  lookin'  at  it,  jes'  t'  see  if  I  can  make  it 
look  like  it's  looked  before.  But  I  can't. 
One  day  it's  one  thing,  an'  another  day  it's 
different.  Sure,"  he  added,  reverently, 
"seems  as  if  God  was  always  monkeyin'  with 
it,  an'  changin'  it,  an'  every  time  it's  prettier 
than  th'  las'." 

Mason's  and  the  girl's  eyes  met,  and  in 
hers  was  a  faint,  misty  smile. 

"So  none  of  us  ever  gets  tired  of  it,"  Pete 
went  on.  "I've  took  folks  down  th'  trail 
from  back  East,  and  lots  of  times  they've 
asked  me  if  I  didn't  get  tired  goin'  up  an' 

273 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

down,  seein'  th'  same  thing  all  th'  time. 
What's  th'  use  o'  talkin'  t'  those  folks?"  he 
asked  sneeringly,  as  he  turned  to  them. 

Mason  smiled  appreciatively. 

"They  don't  know  nothin'.  Why,  I've 
even  heard  some  say  the  Canyon  wasn't 
equal  t'  th'  pictures  of  it!  They  compare  it  t' 
th'  Yosemite  'n'  th'  Yellowstone!  Lord!  I 
trailed  th'  Yosemite  'fore  ever  the  tourist 
heard  of  it,  an'  as  fer  th'  Yellowstone!  Say, 
you  could  put  ten  Yellowstones  an'  a  dozen 
Yosemites  in  that  there  hole," — he  swept  his 
arm  in  a  semicircle — "an'  they'd  be  lost!" 

Miss  Anstruther  nodded. 

"You  know  'cause  you've  saw  'em,"  he 
added. 

"I  know,"  she  confirmed.     "And  now 
won't  you  show  Mr.  Mason  the  cave  under 
this  ledge?"  she  asked. 
274 


ONE  SORT  OF  GIRL 


"Sure — this  way.     It  ain't  far  down." 

"Aren't  you  coming?"  Mason  inquired. 

"No,  I  Ve  been  down.  You  go — I'll  wan 
der  along  the  Rim,"  Miss  Anstruther  re 
plied. 

The  guide  descended  first,  slipping  and 
sliding,  to  a  ledge  that  projected  perhaps 
ten  feet  below  the  edge  of  the  abyss.  Mason 
followed  as  gracefully  as  possible,  but  he 
was  humorously  conscious  of  the  sorry  pic 
ture  he  would  present  to  any  one  who 
might  be  on  a  lower  level  and  prompted  to 
look  up  at  the  moment  of  his  descent.  It 
was  not  so  much  of  a  cave,  as  caves  go ;  but 
standing  back  in  the  blackness  and  looking 
out  through  the  entrance  across  the  Canyon, 
the  young  man  received  a  curious  optical 
sensation;  it  was  quite  as  though  he  were 
inside  a  telescope. 

275 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *•     * 

"This  here  Point,"  Pete  was  saying,  "was 
named  for  Bucky  O'Neill." 

"The  rough  rider?"  Mason  inquired  eag 
erly. 

"Yes,   him   that  got  plugged   'fore  his 
time." 
"Did  you  know  him?" 

"Know  him!"  Pete  spat.  "Did  I  know 
him?  Lord,  they  ain't  a  man,  woman,  er 
child  in  Arizony  that  didn't  know  him,  jes' 
like  there  wasn't  one  that  knew  him  any  sort 
o'  well-like,  that  didn't  leak  when  we  heard 
they'd  got  him.  He  was  a  man,  Bucky 
O'Neill,  as  clean  an'  as  square  a  man  as  ever 
stood  in  leather.  If  you  don't  believe  me, 
ask  the  President.  He  knew  him.  They 
were  a  lot  alike,  folks  tell  me,  that  knew  'em 
both.  Both  square — an'  straight — an'  that's 
why  we  loved  Bucky  O'Neill  out  here;  V 
276 


ONE  SORT  OF  GIRL 


that's  why  we're  lovin'  Roosevelt.  Take  a 
feller  from  back  East  an'  set  him  down  out 
here  —  anywhere  in  the  West,  from  the  Mis 
souri  t'  th'  Coast,  or  from  Santa  Fe  to  Me- 
dora  —  'n'  the  boys  '11  soon  find  out  what 
he's  up  to  ;  'n'  th'  President,  I  guess,  stacked 
up  with  th'  best  of  'em." 

Pete  drew  a  hand  across  his  forehead, 
gazed  intently  at  the  opposite  side  of  the 
Canyon,  then  looked  down  into  the  abyss 
below. 

"You  see,"  he  continued,  and  there  was  a 
tender  note  in  his  voice,  "Bucky  had  a  bug  in 
his  head  that  these  rocks  was  full  o'  gold  'n' 
copper,  and  he  done  a  lot  o'  prospectin' 
right  'round  here.  That's  how  they  come  to 
call  this  O'Neill's  Point,  an'  I'm  thinkin' 
they  ain't  many  that's  got  a  monument  ekal 
t'  this'n  o'  his." 

277 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

He  went  to  the  entrance  of  the  cave,  and 
balancing  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  shelf, 
pointed. 

"Ov'r  there,  that's  Bright  Angel  Creek," 
he  said.  "Powell  named  it  in  '72  when  him 
and  his  party  came  through  the  Canyon  on 
their  trip  from  th'  head  waters  o'  th'  Color 
ado  t'  th'  Gulf.  Talk  'bout  nerve !  Say,  them 
fellers  had  it,  some!  You  see  th'  Colorado's 
all  red  mud,  'n'  they  got  so  sick  lookin'  at  it 
that  when  they  made  that  bend  over  there, 
'n'  seen  that  creek  sparklin'  in  th'  sun,  they 
jes'  up  'n'  named  it  'Bright  Angel,'  they 
was  so  glad  t'  see  somethin'  'sides  red  mud. 
When  any  of  us  crosses  th'  Canyon,  we  go 
up  that  creek." 

"You've  crossed?"  Mason  asked. 

"Me?  I  should  say  so.  M'  mother  lives 
over  on  th'  other  Rim.  Takes  a  couple  o' 
278 


ONE  SORT  OF  GIRL 


weeks  t'  get  there,  easy  goin'.  But  mother 
don't  like  me  t'  tackle  it  too  often,  thinks  it's 
dangerous."  He  laughed. 

"Did  you  ever  have  an  accident  here  in 
the  Canyon?"  Mason  asked. 

"No,"  Pete  answered  slowly,  "not  a  real 
one.  Lost  a  horse  an'  two  pack  animals 
swimmin'  th'  river  a  year  ago  las'  fall.  Once 
m'  horse  jumped  th'  trail,  but  I  guess  she's 
told  you  about  that."  He  gave  his  yellow 
head  an  upward  tilt. 

"She!"  Mason  exclaimed.  "You  mean  —  ." 

"Th'  lady,"  Pete  said. 

"She  told  me  you  saved  her  life  here 
once,"  Mason  suggested. 

Pete  laughed. 

"I  tried  t'  tell  you  yesterday  it  was  th' 
other  way  'round,"  the  cowboy  explained 
with  a  chuckle,  "only  she  wouldn't  let  me." 
279 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     ^ 

"I  remember,"  Mason  said,  thoughtfully. 

"JVT  horse  seen  somethin'  new  on  th'  trail 
'n'  jumped.  I  kicked  th'  stirrups  loose  jes' 
in  time  t'  grab  a  bush — only  bush  for  a  hun 
dred  yards  either  way.  Th'  lady  was  on  the 
lower  level,  and  when  my  horse  went  down 
it  nearly  squashed  her  'n'  hers,  but  she  seen 
it  a-comin',  I  guess,  'n'  got  out  from  under. 
Up  'bove  me  she  jes'  hollered  t'  hang  on,  V 
without  losing  no  time  she  got  th'  cinch  off 
her  horse  V  flung  it  down  t'  me.  I  looped 
it  'round  that  bush  with  one  hand,  V  work- 
in'  my  shoulders  up  through  th'  loop,  hung 
there,  danglin'  my  heels  till  somebody 
come.  Th'  lady'd  run  on  up  th'  trail  'n'  met 
Cap'n  Hance  comin'  down  with  his  little 
pack  train.  Cap'n,  he  unslung  th'  pack 
from  one  o'  th'  burros  'n'  dropped  th'  line 
over  t'  me,  fust  workin'  his  coat  under  it  on 
280 


ONE  SORT  OF  GIRL 


the  rock  edge  above,  so's  it  wouldn't  cut  th' 
rope,  'n'  I  come  up  hand  over  hand.  That's 
really  how  it  happened." 

The  utter  simplicity  of  the  man's  anec 
dote  caused  Mason  to  experience  a  peculiar 
thrill  in  the  region  of  his  heart. 

Reaching  out,  he  grasped  the  cowboy's 
hand,  while  he  gazed  deep  into  the  honest 
eyes. 

"Pete,"  he  exclaimed,  "I'm  going  to 
marry  that  lady." 

"Are  you?" 

"Yes." 

"I  kind  o'  thought  as  much,"  was  the 
calm  reply.  "An'  all  I've  got  t'  say  is,  you're 
in  luck,  an'  it's  owin'  t'  her  that  I'm  here  t' 
tell  ye  so;  fer  if  she  hadn't  ripped  off  that 
cinch  an'  let  me  have  it,  I'd  a  had  t'  leggo 
that  bush,  'n'  I'd  a  fell  so  fer  down  it 
281 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     ^ 

wouldn't  'a'  been  necessary  t'  bury  me.  She's 
all  right." 

He  moved  along  the  ledge.  Mason  fol 
lowed  him  and  accepted  his  necessary  as 
sistance  to  negotiate  the  Rim. 

Miss  Anstruther  was  walking  along  the 
road  a  few  yards  beyond  the  horses,  but  at 
Mason's  call  she  came  running  back.  As 
they  bumped  over  the  road  among  the  trees, 
Mason  whispered  to  her,  "Pete  told  me 
about  you,  dear,  and  what  you  did." 

"Pete  is  a  very  foolish  person,"  she  whis 
pered  back,  but  the  eyes  that  looked  into  his 
were  bright  and  dancing,  and  he  thrilled  at 
the  touch  of  her  hand, 


282 


Graduation 


XVIII.  GRADUATION 

porter  of  the  Overland  train, 
which  they  met  at  Williams  shortly 
after  noon,  brought  them  two  little  camp 
stools  and  left  them  to  their  own  devices. 
Miss  Anstruther  leaned  her  arms  upon  the 
rail  at  the  edge  of  the  platform  and  gazed 
down  at  the  ties  as  they  leaped  back  from 
under  the  car  and  raced  on  and  on  to  the 
east. 

"Sibyl." 

She  did  not  look  up. 

"Sibyl,"  Mason  called  again.  The  eyes 
she  raised  to  his  were  soberer  than  he  had 
ever  seen  them  before. 

"Why,  what  is  it,  dear?"  There  was  a 
little  note  of  alarm  in  his  voice. 

"I  was  just  thinking,"  she  said  slowly. 

285 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     ^ 

"Thinking  what?"  was  his  anxious  query. 

She  sat  upright  then  and  faced  him,  her 
hands  lying  passive  in  her  lap. 

"I  was  thinking  what  it  will  mean  to  give 
up  all  this."  She  swept  one  arm  in  a  semi 
circle.  "And  the  experience  of  yesterday — 
and  go  back  East  to  live — forever." 

He  leaned  forward  and  one  of  his  hands 
closed  over  hers. 

"We'll  not  give  it  up,  dear,"  he  said. 

Her  eyes  spoke  her  gratefulness. 

"We'll  not  give  it  up,"  he  repeated. 
"Why  should  we?  It  means  so  much  to 
you  and" — he  hesitated.  She  seemed  to 
await  breathlessly.  "And  it  has  come  to 
mean  as  much  to  me." 

"Hal!"  There  was  in  her  cry  a  note  of 
sheer  delight. 

"If  any  one  had  told  me  two  weeks  ago," 
286 


\  -v  <->T^..^.  „_ .--r 

SHE  GAZED  AT  THE  TIES  AS  THEY  RACED  ON  TO  THE  EAST 


GRADUATION 


he  went  on,  "that  over  night,  almost,  the 
magic  of  this  country  would  get  into  my 
blood,  I'd  have  laughed.  But  it's  different 
now.  Something  here,  something  that  is  not 
here  at  all,  perhaps,  but  that  exists  only  in 
my  own  mind,  grips  me.  I  should  like  to  be 
a  part  of  this  life  and  of  the  world  out  here ; 
I  am  going  to  try  to  be.  I  don't  know  what 
the  Governor  will  say" — a  little  frown  ruf 
fled  his  brow.  "He'll  laugh  probably,  but 
that  won't  change  it;  I  know  it  won't.  You 
see  he's  never  been  out  here  himself;  if  he 
had  been,  he  would  understand.  He  and 
I  are  really  a  good  deal  alike,  though  per 
haps  he'd  not  take  that  as  a  compliment." 

"Don't  depreciate  yourself,"  Sibyl  pro 
tested,  and  he  smiled. 

"I'll  not,"  he  said.  "Do  you  know,  dear," 
he  went  on,  "a  fortnight  ago  I  was  telling 
287 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^ 

myself  that  thus  far  my  life  had  been  abso 
lutely  useless ;  that  I  was  a  mere  tail  to  the 
Governor's  kite." 

"But  the  kite  won't  fly  without  a  tail,"  she 
put  in,  and  something  of  the  old  mocking 
light  came  an  instant  into  her  eyes. 

"That's  true  of  the  old-time  kites  that  we 
used  to  fly,"  he  went  on,  "but  father  is  an 
other  sort;  he's  one  of  these  modern  box 
kites  that  have  no  need  of  an  appendage." 

She  laughed. 

"But  now  I  see  things  rather  differently," 
he  said,  "I  see  that  honest  work  is  what 
counts,  and  that  one  must  work  to  live. 
This  country  has  taught  me  that.  I  dare 
say  I  should  not  have  forgotten  that  it  was 
hammered  into  my  head  back  in  my  fresh 
man  year  at  Harvard,  but  the  Governor  was 
paying  all  the  bills  then,  and  the  fact  of  the 
288 


GRADUATION 


need  of  work  was  not  so  very  clear  to  me. 
Oh,  IVe  argued  it  all  out  in  my  own  mind, 
dear;  I've  even  tried  to  argue  you  out  of  my 
mind,  actually  to  cancel  you  from  the  equa 
tion.  And  all  the  time  you  were  the  (x',  and 
now  IVe  found  the  value  of  it — little  girl." 

He  was  leaning  toward  her,  and  their 
hands  were  clasped. 

"And  you'll  let  me  help?"  she  asked. 

"You  have  helped,"  he  told  her.  "We 
both  laughed  the  other  day  when  you  men 
tioned  conducting  a  school  for  Harvard 
graduates.  But  that's  what  it  has  amounted 
to;  and  now  that  I  have  taken  the  final 
exams.,  dear,  have  I  passed?" 

They  were  quite  alone  out  there  on  the 
rear  platform  of  the  train  as  it  rushed  across 
the  desert.  Overhead  the  brilliant  tur 
quoise  sky  was  flecked  with  semi-transpar- 
289 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     * 

ent  clouds,  their  edges  tinted  like  opals.  The 
girl  glanced  over  her  shoulder  quickly 
through  the  car  door.  The  porter  had  long 
since  vanished.  Raising  her  full,  red  lips, 
she  kissed  him  on  the  cheek. 

"There's  your  diploma,"  she  said. 

"Sweetheart!"  He  pressed  her  hand  in 
both  his. 

She  looked  at  him  with  smiling  eyes. 

"But  I  haven't  done  anything,"  she  said. 
"Perhaps  I  shouldn't  confess  it,  but  if  I've 
tried  to  make  you  feel  the  glory,  and  some 
thing  of  the  magic  of  this  great  country  of 
yours  and  mine,  it's  no  more  than  I'd  have 
done  for — for  another.  Oh,  all  my  inclina 
tions  are  missionary,"  she  exclaimed,  laugh 
ingly. 

A  little  frown  had  come  into  his  eyes  and 
he  looked  down. 

290 


GRADUATION 


"And  yet  perhaps  it  A^  been  different  in 
your  case,  after  all,  Hal,"  she  added.  "Do 
you  remember  that  dance  at  Daisy  Wor- 
rington's?" 

"Rather,"  he  exclaimed—  "rather." 

"We'd  danced  a  lot  early  in  the  evening; 
do  you  remember  that,  too?" 

He  nodded. 

"And  I  liked  you!" 

"Did  you,  really?" 

"Yes.  Of  course,  you're  not  very  great 
snooks  at  a  dance,  but  I  liked  you  just  the 


same." 


"Perhaps  Townsend  dances  rather  better 
than  I  do."    He  spoke  curtly. 

"Oh,  a  lot  better!"  she  cried.    "A  whole 
lot!" 

"He's  a  rather  good  'sitter,'  too,  I  should 
say,"  he  suggested,  sourly. 
291 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

"Poor  Fred,"  she  murmured.  "So  you 
remember  that,  too,  do  you?" 

"Could  I  forget  it?  Could  I  forget  how 
all  of  a  sudden  you  vanished  as  completely 
as  though  the  Back  Bay  had  swallowed 
you?  To  be  sure,  I  saw  the  flicker  of  your 
gown  out  on  the  lawn,  but  I  would  not  go 
for  you.  The  next  dance  was  mine,  but  if 
you  preferred  to  bolt  it  and  sit  under  a  lot 
of  leaves  with  Townsend,  like  the  babes  in 
the  woods,  I  wouldn't  follow  to  claim  you." 

He  looked  up  to  discover  that  she  was 
laughing  at  him. 

"It  wasn't  any  laughing  matter,  then,"  he 
protested. 

"Oh,  Hal,  Hal,  you  stupid!"  she  cried, 
"if  the  train  didn't  sway  so  I  could  hug  you 
for  your  dear  stupidity.    Don't  you  think  I 
remembered  ours  was  the  next  dance?" 
292 


GRADUATION 


"All  the  worse,"  he  broke  in  sharply. 

"And  it  was  I  who  suggested  to  poor 
Fred  that  we  go  out  on  the  lawn." 

"You!" 

She  nodded. 

"Oh,  don't  you  see?"  she  pleaded.  "You 
are  stupid." 

"I  guess  I  am,"  he  agreed. 

"I  wanted  to  be  there  when  you  came  to 
claim  me." 

His  eyebrows  lifted,  but  he  said  nothing. 

"Have  I  got  to  tell  it  all?"  she  pleaded. 
She  looked  down,  and  the  faintest  wave  of 
color  mounted  her  cheek. 

"And  when  you  should  come,  and  Fred 
leave,  I  meant  to  say  I  was  tired  and  we 
would  'keep  a-sitting'  there  for — for — Oh, 
dear,  I  guess  I  was  in  love  with  you  then — 
way — way  up  to  my  eyes!  And  you  didn't 
293 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

come  to  claim  me  at  all!"  She  threw  out 
her  arms  in  mock  desperation. 

"I  was  an  idiot!"  Mason  exclaimed. 

"I'm  afraid  you  were — then,"  she  agreed, 
demurely. 

A  long  time  they  sat  there  on  the  little 
stools.  Away  back  in  the  east  the  shadows 
were  lengthening.  The  train  was  running 
away  from  the  twilight  into  the  golden 
glory  of  the  desert  sunset. 

The  door  behind  opened  and  the  porter 
called:  "Does  yo'  want  dinnah  at  de 
Needles?" 

Receiving  Mason's  affirmative  reply,  he 
withdrew  at  once  and  they  were  alone  again. 
Until  the  purple  evening  enveloped  them 
they  sat  there. 

"Needles  is  one  of  the  most  interesting 
places  in  the  desert,"  Sibyl  said,  "and  the 
294 


GRADUATION 


hottest.  It's  a  few  miles  across  the  Col 
orado  River,  you  know,  and  the  southern 
gateway  to  California.  It  has  been  known 
to  be  132°  there  at  noon." 

Even  now  the  air  was  growing  more  and 
more  heated  as  the  train  rushed  on.  Shel 
tered  as  they  were  by  the  hood  of  the  vesti 
bule,  Mason  was  none  the  less  conscious  that 
he  was  hot,  feverishly  hot,  yet  not  uncom 
fortable. 

"Put  your  hand  out  at  the  side,"  the  girl 
bade  him. 

He  did  so,  and  the  air  smote  it  like  a  blast 
from  a  furnace. 

"But  it  is  so  dry  one  doesn't  feel  ener 
vated,"  Sibyl  said. 

Presently  they  entered  the  car.  All  the 
windows  were  shut  tight  to  prevent  the  en 
trance  of  the  withering  outside  air.  Mason 
295 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

experienced  a  peculiar  sensation  in  his 
head;  it  was  as  though  the  top  were  lifting 
lightly,  but  he  was  not  faint.  Indeed,  the 
feeling  was  more  pleasant  than  otherwise. 
The  train  rumbled  across  the  long,  high 
bridge  that  spans  the  torrent  of  the  Colo 
rado.  Presently  the  conductor  called, 
"Needles!" 

Mason  and  Miss  Anstruther  were  among 
the  first  to  alight.  In  the  shadows  of  the 
low  station,  looming  huge  in  the  night, 
pierced  here  and  there  by  beams  of  the  yel 
low  light  within,  were  gathered  groups  of 
Mojave  Indians,  women  and  girls  for  the 
most  part,  and  as  the  travelers  made  their 
way  to  the  dining-room,  they  were  besieged 
on  all  sides  and  besought  to  buy  the  bead 
wares  and  pottery  the  squaws  would  sell. 
The  effect  of  these  squat,  square-visaged 
296 


GRADUATION 


creatures,  in  their  gaudy  calicoes,  in  the  dim 
yellow  light  of  the  station  platform,  struck 
Mason  as  altogether  weird  and  uncanny. 

A  score  of  electric  fans  whirred  in  the 
dining-room,  where  a  dozen  white  clad 
girls  moved  noiselessly  about  from  table  to 
table. 

Sibyl  looked  up  from  her  iced  boullion  at 
the  little  dinner  card  propped  before  her 
against  its  leather  support. 

"Hal  I"  Her  whisper  was  almost  breath 
less. 

He  turned  to  her. 

"See!"  And  with  her  fork  she  indicated 
a  line  on  the  menu. 

"Baked  crabs,"  he  read  and  looked  at  her. 

One  of  the  silently  moving  girls  in  white 
served  him.  He  tasted  of  the  minced  meat. 

"Gad!"  he  muttered. 
297 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     * 

"And  now  do  you  believe  me?"  she  asked, 
her  eyes  dancing. 

Against  the  wall  beside  her  hung  a  ther 
mometer. 

"See!"  she  said. 

He  followed  her  eyes.  The  mercury 
registered  98°.  It  was  nine  o'clock  at  night 
— more  than  three  thousand  miles  from  Bos 
ton,  and  he  was  eating  an  Atlantic  crab. 

"I  shall  believe  you — always,"  he  said. 

After  dinner  until  the  instant  of  the 
train's  departure,  they  bargained  with  the 
squaws.  One  of  them,  a  young  girl,  offered 
Sibyl  the  silver  ring  that  she  was  wearing, 
and  perhaps  its  sale  would  have  been  ac 
complished  had  not  the  warning  bell  been 
rung  just  then.  The  incident  recalled  to 
Mason  the  ring  that  he  had  purchased  sev 
eral  days  before,  and  had  quite  forgotten. 
298 


GRADUATION 


They  stood  on  the  platform  as  the  train 
pulled  out,  watching  the  receding  lights  of 
the  little  desert  town.  He  produced  the 
ring  from  his  pocket. 

"I'd  not  thought  of  it  before,"  he  said.  He 
took  her  left  hand  in  his  and  slipped  the  sil 
ver  circlet  over  the  slim  third  finger. 

"Will  you  let  it  serve,  dear,"  he  said, 
"till  day  after  tomorrow?" 

She  looked  up  at  him.  Her  face  was 
ghostly  in  the  green  light  of  the  signal  lan 
tern  shining  from  the  end  of  the  train  above 
their  heads. 

"It  will  do  for  always,"  she  answered. 
"See,  it  can  be  made  smaller  when  we  find  a 
jeweler." 


299 


The  Deal 


XIX.  THE  DEAL 

valley  of  the  San  Joaquin,  which 
lay  about  them  in  the  morning,  was 
like  an  ocean  of  gold  in  the  brilliant  sun 
light.  As  far  as  Mason  could  see  from  the 
windows  on  either  side  of  the  car  was  wheat, 
golden  wheat,  rippling  in  the  gentle  breeze. 
Now  and  again,  in  the  far  distance,  a  ranch 
house  was  to  be  seen  surrounded  by  trees 
and  turf,  affording  the  only  green  splotches 
in  the  landscape.  These  oases  in  the  yellow 
expanse  were  like  islands  in  the  golden  sea. 
Even  the  right-of-way,  between  the  wire 
fences,  was  thick  with  the  yellow  spears  of 
the  wheat,  and  at  intervals,  beside  the  track, 
were  red  store  houses,  their  platforms  piled 
high  with  thick  bulging  bags  of  the  peo 
ple's  food. 

303 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     ^ 

In  the  slang  of  speculation,  as  he  had 
heard  it  spoken  by  his  father's  friends 
back  East,  "wheat"  was  a  juggling  term 
It  might  mean  much,  or  nothing.  It  was 
the  mere  name  of  a  commodity  in  which 
men  dealt — frenziedly;  but  the  stuff  itself, 
the  simple  name  of  which  was  on  so  many 
tongues,  was  never  seen. 

The  wonder  of  these  fields  through  which 
he  was  speeding  strangely  impressed  Mason 
as  he  watched  the  flat,  endless,  golden  land 
scape.  Here  was  he  in  the  center  .of  a  vast 
ocean  of  the  commodity  itself  whose  name 
alone  till  now  was  all  that  he  had  known. 
He  was  conscious  of  a  sort  of  awe  as  he 
gazed  across  the  fields.  He  realized  the  in 
finite,  potential  force  of  this  growing  grain, 
and  spoke  of  it  to  the  girl  opposite  him,  eag 
erly. 

304 


THE  DEAL 


She  put  down  the  book  that  she  was  read 
ing. 

"It  is  the  world's  food,"  she  said,  soberly. 

After  a  moment,  she  added:  "Sometimes 
I  have  felt  these  fields  to  be  grander  even 
than  the  Canyon." 

"I  have  always  smiled,"  he  said,  "when  I 
have  read  back  East  of  the  wild  scenes  that 
now  and  then  are  acted  on  the  Chicago 
Board.  But  I  shall  never  smile  at  them 
again." 

"They  fight  there  for  these  oceans,"  Miss 
Anstruther  said,  "battle  for  the  people's 
bread,  while  the  wheat  ripens  in  the  sun." 

"It's  a  game  worth  playing,"  he  said,  as 
though  speaking  to  himself  —  "And  mine, 
now,  is  very  small,  a  mere  child's  contest, 
compared  to  it." 

She  leaned  toward  him  with  earnest  eyes. 
305 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

"Won't  you  tell  me,  dear,  all  about  your 
mission  in  'Frisco?"  she  asked.  "I  want  to 
know  it;  shouldn't  I — now?  Perhaps  I  can 
help,  dear.  Oh,  you  don't  know  how  much 
I  want  to  help  1" 

He  regarded  her  steadily.  Her  eyes  did 
not  waver,  but  smiled  back  into  his  bravely. 

"It's  not  much,"  he  said; — "there's  a  trac 
tion  deal  on  back  East.  It's  my  father's  idea, 
and  he  has  sent  me  out  here  to  see  a  man 
who  has  a  lot  of  money — who  may  go  into 
it  with  him.  It  is  for  me  to  persuade  him. 
And  Sibyl" — his  jaw  went  square,  and 
the  lines  around  his  mouth  straightened— 
"I'm  going  to  win  his  interest.  Last  night  I 
lay  awake  in  my  berth,  rehearsing  what  I 
shall  say  to  him.  I  must  win,  dear; — for 
both  our  sakes.  I  wrote  father  of  you  a  few 
days  ago.  He  has  the  letter  now.  He  will 
306 


THE  DEAL 


wire  me  in  'Frisco.  So,  I'm  going  to  win 
for  you." 

"Hal,"  she  whispered,  "I  shall  pray  for 
you,  but  of  course  you'll  win.  And  that 
wire,  dear,  from  your  father  —  you'll  let  me 
see  it,  won't  you,  no  matter  what  it  is?" 

He  hesitated. 

"Promise." 

"I  promise,"  he  replied. 

Thereafter  she  told  him  all  she  knew  of 
the  country  through  which  they  sped, 
Fresno  the  capital  of  Raisin  Land,  Barstow 
and  Bakersfield,  with  their  quaint  Spanish 
stations  surrounded  by  tall  palms,  and  shin 
ing  in  the  midday  brilliance  amid  a  profus 
ion  of  flowers. 

When,  in  the  early  evening,  the  train 
neared  Oakland,  Miss  Anstruther  began  to 
gather  her  belongings. 

307 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     ^: 

"Journeys  end,"  she  whispered  softly. 

"In  lovers'  meeting,"  he  added. 

It  was  quite  dark  when  they  alighted 
from  the  train  and  boarded  the  San  Pablo. 

They  had  supper  at  a  little  round  table  in 
the  tiny  cafe  of  the  huge  ferry-boat.  After 
ward  they  went  out  on  deck,  forward.  The 
cold  cut  intoMason's  bones.  Athin  gossamer 
of  fog  trembled  above  the  water.  The  pur 
ple  sky  was  sprinkled  with  stars.  Ahead, 
through  the  mist  curtain  shone  the  yellow 
lights  of  San  Francisco.  For  half  an  hour 
they  stood  there  at  the  rail,  gazing  at  the 
points  of  light  that  each  instant  became 
more  and  more  distinct  one  from  another. 

"There  is  so  much  I  want  you  to  see, 
here,"  she  said,  "but  first  you  must  do  your 
work.  At  the  ferry-house  I  shall  bid  you 
good-night" 

308 


THE  DEAL 


"There  will  be  some  one  to  meet  you?"  he 
asked. 

"No.  Aunt  Jane  has  no  idea  of  the  pre 
cise  time  of  my  arrival.  But  I'll  drive 
home  alone  to-night.  I  mean  to  play  a 
prank  on  aunt.  You  shall  come  to  dine  with 
us  to-morrow  night  —  then  I  shall  tell  her. 
Please  let  me  ;  don't  protest.  I  know  her  so 
well.  She  has  always  said  she  loves  to  be 
surprised.  To-morrow  night,  then,  I  mean 
she  shall  have  the  surprise  of  her  whole 
life." 

And  so  at  the  ferry-house,  he  saw  her  into 
a  cab,  and  she  waved  her  hand  to  him  from 
the  window. 

He  was  driven  straight  up  Market  Street 
to  the  Palace  Hotel. 

After  the  clerk  had  assigned  him  a  room, 
he  asked  for  telegrams.  One  was  given 
309 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

him  and  he  tore  it  open  with  trembling 
fingers. 

"Congratulations,"  was  the  single  word  it 
contained;  it  was  signed,  "Daisy  Worring- 
ton." 

He  laughed  outright.  So  Sibyl  had 
wired  her  one-time  school-mate  without 
having  told  him,  had  she? 

Then  a  little  whistle  escaped  his  lips.  It 
had  not  been  Sibyl,  he  told  himself,  but 
Townsend.  He  smiled.  Certainly  it  was 
Townsend,  and  all  Boston  knew  of  his  en 
gagement  by  now.  But  the  Governor;  why 
was  there  not  a  telegram  from  him?  He 
went  to  his  room  at  once.  Presently  his 
luggage  arrived.  He  unpacked  his  bag,  ar 
ranged  his  things,  and — went  to  bed 


310 


A    Girl's  Hand 


XX.  A  GIRL'S  HAND 

XT  WAS  nine  o'clock  when  Mason 
awoke  the  next  morning.  His  little 
black  leather  traveler's  clock,  ticking  away 
on  the  dresser,  told  him  the  hour.  He 
looked  out  into  the  face  of  the  new  day.  Then 
he  looked  back  at  the  clock.  Either  the  day 
or  the  clock  was  woefully  wrong — and  he 
felt  that  he  could  depend  upon  the  clock. 
He  had  not  reckoned  with  the  'Frisco  fog. 
That  was  all.  Still  in  doubt,  he  dressed  and 
descended  to  the  restaurant.  He  ate  his 
breakfast  amid  a  multitude  of  palms. 

An  hour  and  a  half  had  slipped  by  when 
he  arose  from  the  table.  Perhaps,  he 
thought,  Colonel  Tompkins  had  not  as  yet 
returned  to  town.  Then  he  remembered 
the  girl's  face  that  had  looked  at  him,  long- 

3*3 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     *• 

ingly,  from  the  cab  window  at  the  ferry 
house  the  night  before.  In  a  few  hours  he 
would  see  her  face  again.  He  knew  how 
eagerly  the  eyes  would  question  him.  And 
what  would  he  be  able  to  tell  them? 

Outside,  the  fog  had  lifted,  and  the  Cali 
fornia  sun  was  filling  Market  Street  with 
the  glory  of  the  new  day. 

Hal  Mason  squared  his  shoulders.  What 
had  he  to  fear?  Youth  was  his,  and  the 
world  was  young.  So  he  asked  the  boy  at 
the  news-stand  the  direction  to  the  Express 
building,  and,  obtaining  it,  left  the  hotel. 

In  the  ante-room  of  Colonel  Tompkins' 
office  a  boy  received  his  card.  He  was  a 
small  boy — a  very  small  boy — with  red 
hair,  and  huge  freckles  across  the  bridge  of 
his  nose;  altogether  strangely  like  Mason's 
own  office-boy  back  in  Boston;  and  the 

3H 


A  GIRL'S  HAND 


young  man  seized  upon  the  likeness  as  a 
good  omen. 

Yes,  Colonel  Tompkins  was  in  and  would 
see  him. 

His  heart  jumped  in  his  breast;  he  pulled 
a  long  breath.  Five  steps,  and  he  con 
fronted  the  man  whom  he  had  traveled 
four  thousand  miles  to  win. 

In  the  instant  that  passed  before  the  ex 
change  of  greetings,  Mason  "sized  up"  the 
man  before  him  quite  as  he  was  wont  to 
"size  up"  his  opponent  on  the  foot-ball  line 
in  his  early  college  days. 

Colonel  Tompkins  was  a  stout,  middle- 
height  man,  who,  judging  from  his  round, 
clean-shaven  face,  might  have  been  forty  or 
sixty  years  of  age.  He  held  his  eye  glasses 
between  the  thumb  and  finger  of  his  left 
hand,  and  his  clear,  blue  eyes  seemed  to  look 
315 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     ^ 

through  Mason's  head  and  out  at  the  back, 
past  the  tall  screen  that  hid  one  end  of  the 
littered  flaMop  desk,  through  the  closed 
door  of  the  ante-room,  and  on  and  on. 

"Colonel  Tompkins,"  Mason  said,  and 
held  out  his  hand. 

"Mr.  Mason,"  returned  the  other,  as 
their  hands  touched.  He  waved  his  caller 
to  the  chair  set  back  in  the  angle  of  the 
screen,  where  its  occupant  was  invisible  to 
any  one  who  might  appear  in  the  doorway 
of  the  ante-room.  Tompkins  seated  himself 
in  his  desk  chair;  there  was  a  moment  of  si 
lence,  then  he  spoke.  His  voice  was  clear 
but  gentle. 

"I  find  I  have  been  laboring  under  a  de 
lusion,  sir,"  he  said.  "I  had  looked  for 
ward,  quite  apart  from  business,  I  assure 
you,  to  welcoming  to  San  Francisco  Mr. 

316 


A  GIRL'S  HAND 


John  Mason,  whom  I  have  never  had  the 
good  fortune  to  meet,  but  whose  name  is 
very  well  known  to  me.  You  are,  I  take 
it"  — 

"His  son,  Colonel  Tompkins,"  Hal  pro 
vided. 

"I  am  glad  to  meet  his  son,  then,"  Tomp 
kins  replied,  and  his  smile  revealed  his 
strong,  even  teeth. 

"Colonel  Tompkins,"  Mason  began,  "I 
present  to  you  my  father's  regrets  that  he 
was  unable,  owing  to  his  health,  to  cross  the 
continent,  and  I  am  grateful  to  you,  on  his 
behalf,  for  your  very  cordial  welcome  to 
me.  You  are,  in  some  degree  at  least,  fami 
liar,  through  our  Mr.  MacDonald,  with  the 
nature  of  my  mission." 

"I  met  Mr.  MacDonald,"  was  the  calm 
reply,  "and  we  did  go  over  the  subject  of  — 

3*7 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

let  me  see — it  was  a  traction  deal,  was  it  not, 
a  matter  of  bonds  arid  so  forth?" 

"Boston — Portland,"  Mason  recalled  to 
him. 

Tompkins  nodded.  "Oh,  yes,  I  remember." 

Mason  leaned  forward,  his  elbows  on  the 
desk.  "And  the  most  attractive  traction  pro 
position,  Colonel  Tompkins,"  he  said,  "that 
the  East  contains  to-day." 

Colonel  Tompkins  smiled.  "Attractive  to 
an  Easterner,  Mr.  Mason,  I  believe  you 
mean,"  he  corrected,  agreeably. 

"Or  a  Westerner,  Colonel,"  Mason  re 
plied. 

Their  eyes  met  and  clinched.  Then  Col 
onel  Tompkins  did  a  little  thing  that  many 
of  his  associates  would  have  been  amazed 
to  see  him  do.  He  leaned  across  the  desk, 
and  placing  his  fingers  tip  to  tip  said : — 

318 


'WHAT  Is  YOUR  PROPOSITION,  MR.  MASON?' 


A  GIRL'S  HAND 


"What  is  your  proposition,  Mr.  Mason?" 

Mason  swallowed  twice.  Up  before  his 
eyes  floated  a  face,  his  father's  ;  and  another 
face,  Sibyl's. 

"I'll  tell  you.  It  is  a  plan  to  consolidate 
every  trolley-line  running  out  of  Boston. 
Consummated,  the  whole  of  New  England 
will  be  virtually  owned  by  the  company. 
Thirty-six  independent,  but  non-competi 
tive  lines  will  be  concentrated  under  a  sin 
gle  management." 

"Very  good,"  was  the  calm  reply,  "but 
what  is  the  shape  of  these  lines  to-day?" 

Mason  drew  from  his  long  pocket  book 
a  number  of  sheets  of  tissue. 

"Here,"  he  said,  "are  the  reports  of  last 
month's  business  on  every  one  of  those 
thirty-six  lines." 

Tompkins    ran    through    the    papers 

319 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     •* 

swiftly,  then  handed  them  back  to  Mason. 

"Very  good  again,"  he  said,  "now  what  is 
the  idea?" 

Mason  spoke  clearly,  directly,  outlining 
in  detail  the  plan  conceived  by  his  father  of 
combining  the  various  properties.  Tomp- 
kins  gazed  out  the  window,  the  while  he 
tapped  his  chin  with  his  gold-rimmed  eye 
glasses.  Mason  ceased  speaking. 

The  older  man  turned  slowly. 

"It  is  admirably  conceived,"  he  said, 
"but  you  have  not  referred  to  the  fran 
chises." 

Mason's  heart  sank  momentarily.  He 
coughed. 

"An  oversight,"  he  explained,  "they  are 
absolutely  solid — fifty  years" — 

"And  then?"  the  Colonel  suggested,  with 
a  smile. 

320 


A  GIRL'S  HAND 


Mason  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  held 
out  his  hands  palms  up. 

Tompkins  nodded.    He  appeared,  a  mo 
ment,  lost  in  thought.    Then  he  said: 

"Mr.  Mason,  your  father's  plan  is  admir 
able,  and  as  for  you,  I  congratulate  you 
heartily  on  your  lucid  presentation  of  its 
details.  I  am  a  much  older  man  than  you, 
and  if  you  will  forgive  me  for  mentioning 
it,  I  am  rather  more  experienced  in  affairs 
of  this  sort  than  you — so  when  I  tell  you 
that  you  have  come  much  closer  to  interest 
ing  me  than  Mr.  MacDonald  did,  you  may 
take  it  as  a  genuine  compliment  to  your 
skill." 

Mason's  heart  was  pounding  now. 
"But  there  is  one  thing  I'd  like  to  know. 
It  is  this:    Why,  if  this  is  so  admirable  a 
plan,  should  it  have  been  necessary  to  enlist 
321 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     *• 

in  its  development,  the  interest  of — say  Col 
onel  Tompkins — whose  heart  is  fixed  upon 
this  country  of  ours  out  here,  almost  four 
thousand  miles  aw  ay?  Canyou  tellme  why?" 

There  was  a  smile  in  the  eyes  that  met 
Mason's  across  the  littered  desk.  Here  was 
the  question  that  Mason  had  feared.  A 
fortnight  back  he  could  not  have  answered 
it.  But  much  had  come  into  his  life  in 
these  two  weeks.  So  he  said: 

"Colonel  Tompkins,  I  can  tell  you.  I 
can  tell  you  on  absolutely  my  own  responsi 
bility.  This  very  West  of  which  you  are  a 
part  has  provided  me  with  the  answer.  This 
is  a  deal  in  tangible  quantities.  The  ele 
ment  of  speculation  is  almost  entirely  ab 
sent  from  it.  My  father  is  an  Eastern  man ; 
you  are  a  Western  man.  My  father  should 
be.  Though  he  may  be  himself  quite  un- 
322 


A  GIRL'S  HAND 


aware  of  it,  his  is  the  spirit  of  the  West.  It 
is  this  spirit  that  has  prompted  him  to  seek 
your  interest  in  this  proposition.  And  now 
that  we  are  talking  about  it — where  is  the 
East  and  where  the  West,  and  where  the 
North,  and  where  the  South,  in  this  coun 
try?  To  you,  here,  Denver  is  away  back 
east;  to  us  in  Boston,  it  is  terribly  far  west. 
We  are  all  Americans,  Colonel  Tompkins, 
and  all  this  is  America;  and  when  we  get 
right  down  to  it,  there  are  no  directions 
among  us — isn't  that  so?" 

"You  are  very  right,"  was  the  quick  re 
sponse,  "very  right,  only  it  amazes  me  to 
hear  you,  a  Boston  man,  talk  like  that.  It 
is  quite  true  that  we  are  all  off  one  piece  and 
yet — you  talk  like  a  Westerner"  And  he 
laughed  big  and  boisterously.  "And  I  see 
you  are  sincere,"  he  added,  "only  I  should 

323 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     ^ 

like  to  know  where  you  picked  up  such 
ideas?" 

Mason  hesitated  a  moment,  then  said: 
"Colonel  Tompkins,  if  I  were  to  tell  you 
that  one  of  your  own  girls — your  'Western' 
girls — has  educated  me,  would  you  think 
the  less  of  me?" 

"The  less  of  you!"  Tompkins  exclaimed. 
"The  less  of  you!  I'd  think  a  hundred  per 
cent,  more  of  you!" 

"You  may  then,"  was  the  quiet  re 
joinder. 

Tompkins  regarded  him  steadily  for  a 
moment. 

"I'm  very  glad,"  he  said,  quietly.  Then 
he  seemed  to  pull  himself  up  mentally. 

"Mr.  Mason,"  he  began,  "your  plan 
strikes  me  as  one  of  the  best  I  have  heard  ex 
plained  in  a  long  time.  It  strikes  me  as 

324 


A  GIRL'S  HAND 


thoroughly  feasible,  and  infinite  in  its  pos 
sibilities." 

Every  nerve  in  Mason's  body  was  on 
edge,  but  his  face  was  calm,  and  a  little  cold, 
steely  smile  was  in  his  eyes. 

"But  circumstances  are  such  that  I  can 
not  join  forces  with  your  father,  much  as  I 
might  like  to" — 

Oh,  how  glad  was  Hal  Mason  that 
Tompkins  chanced  to  be  gazing  out  the 
window  as  he  uttered  this  knell  of  the  young 
man's  hopes. 

His  heart  sank  leaden  in  his  breast.  The 
lids  fluttered  down  over  his  eyes.  He  felt, 
of  a  sudden,  very  tired.  Tompkins,  still 
gazing  out  the  window,  was  speaking  to 
Mason,  but  his  voice  sounded  from  a  long 
way  off,  as  faint  as  a  dream  voice.  He  had 
failed.  He  had  failed. 
325 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     * 

.  .  .  .  "I  am  going  to  tell  you  why 
I  cannot  be  with  you,"  the  dream  voice  was 
saying.  "I  am  going  to  be  frank,  for  I 
know  what  your  personal  disappointment  is. 
Back  in  your  part  of  the  country,  not  far 
from  Philadelphia,  is  a  place  you  call  At 
lantic  City.  Well,  south  of  here,  near  San 
Diego,  we  are  arranging  for  the  building 
of  what  we  propose  to  make  Pacific  City,  a 
great  seaside  resort  for  the  people — all  the 
people.  A  company  is  now  in  process  of  or 
ganization.  We  shall  begin  work  next  year. 
Our  plans  thus  far  are  unknown  to  any  but 
those  of  us  who  are  interested.  I  tell  you 
this  in  confidence ;  and  I  am  telling  you  be 
cause  I  want  you  to  understand  that  it  is 
not  your  plan  nor  yourself,  but  simply  the 
circumstances  and  the  time,  that  forbid  my 
joining  with  your  father."  He  looked  at 

326 


A  GIRL'S  HAND 


his  watch  and  started.  "My  dear  Mr. 
Mason,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  am  very  sorry, 
but  I  have  an  appointment  for  luncheon, 
else  I  should  have  you  with  me.  However, 
I  am  going  to  suggest  that  we  dine  together 
to-night." 

"Thank  you,"  Mason  replied  weakly, 
"but  I  have  already  accepted  an  invitation 
for  dinner  to-night." 

"And  you  return  East?" 

"To-morrow." 

Then  it  was  that  Fate,  the  comedian, 
danced  in  upon  the  stage.  Sitting  in  the 
angle  of  the  screen,  Mason  could  not  see  the 
door  into  the  ante-room  swing  open.  But 
he  saw  Colonel  Tompkins  half  rise  from  his 
chair,  his  face  alight,  and  heard  him  cry: 

"Sibyl!" 

And  then  before  his  very  eyes  he  beheld 
327 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     * 

Colonel  Tompkins  take  Sibyl  Anstruther 
into  his  arms  and  kiss  her  on  the  forehead. 

Things  swam  before  him.  He  rose,  his 
face  pale  and  tense,  his  fingers  curled  into 
the  palms  of  his  hands.  He  tried  to  speak, 
but  could  utter  no  sound. 

Then  she  saw  him. 

"Hal!"  she  cried  in  surprise. 

She  read  what  was  written  on  his  face. 

With  wonder  stamped  upon  his  own, 
Colonel  Tompkins  released  her  and  stared 
blankly  from  one  to  the  other.  Then  Sibyl 
sank  upon  a  chair,  and  her  laughter  rang 
out  as  clear  as  a  bell. 

"Oh,  how  foolish  you  both  look!"  she 
cried.  "If  you  only  could  see  yourselves!" 

Mason  was  staring  dumbly  at  her. 

"Don't  you  understand,  Hal?"  she 
pleaded,  "this  is  Uncle  Jack — you  know — I 

328 


A  GIRL'S  HAND 


told  you. — You're  not  my  real  uncle,  are 
you,  you  dear  old  thing?  but  maybe  you  will 
be — won't  you?"  She  laughed  again. 

And  then  Mason's  face  cleared,  but  not  so 
the  older  man's. 

"And  now  I  suppose  I  must  tell  you  who 
he  is!"  Sibyl  ran  on  with  mock  seriousness. 

She  went  to  Mason  then,  and,  linking  her 
arm  to  his,  drew  him  around  the  end  of  the 
desk. 

"Uncle  Jack,"  she  said,  "you  and  Aunt 
Jane  have  always  told  me  I'd  marry  a  cow 
boy.  Well  I'm  not  going  to.  I'm  going  to 
marry  a  man  from  Boston — this  man  from 
Boston."  And  she  gave  Mason's  arm  a  lit 
tle  hug. 

Some  of  the  blankness  went  out  of  Tomp- 
kins'  face,  then. 

"And  aren't  you  going  to  give  us  your 

329 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     •* 

blessing?"  Sibyl  begged,  with  dancing  eyes. 

"This  —  is  —  the  —  girl  —  who  —  has 
—  educated  —  you?"  was  the  dumfounded 
man's  wondering  question. 

Mason  inclined  his  head. 

"God  bless  my  soul!" 

Whereupon,  weak  and  limp,  Colonel 
"Jack"  Tompkins  sank  into  his  desk  chair, 
gripping  the  arms  of  which,  he  continued 
to  stare  first  at  one,  then  at  the  other,  of  the 
two  eager  young  faces  above  him. 


330 


An   Offer  is   Accepted 


XXI.  AN  OFFER  IS  ACCEPTED 

HOR  a  moment  thus;  then  Colonel 
Tompkins  leaned  back  in  his  chair 
and  laughed,  as  he  had  not  laughed  before 
for  a  long,  long  time. 

Recovering,  he  turned  to  Sibyl,  who  had 
seated  herself,  and  said: 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me,  you  witch ;  why 
didn't  you?" 

"It  was  my  surprise,"  she  answered.  "I 
meant  not  to  tell  you  till  to-night ;  and  when 
I  called  you  up  by  'phone  this  morning  to 
let  you  know  I  had  reached  the — ahem 
(with  a  glance  at  Mason)  Pacific  Coast, 
you  were,  so  quick  in  asking  me  down  to 
luncheon  with  you  to-day  that  I  hadn't  time 
even  to  give  you  a  clue.  I'd  not  the  faintest 
idea  in  the  world  that  you  were  the  man 

333 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL'     •*     •* 

Hal  had  crossed  the  continent  to  see.  And 
now  we'll  go  to  luncheon — all  three  of  us. 
Do  you  suppose  your  pocket-book  can  stand 
a  luncheon  at  the  Tech/  Uncle  Jack?  Then 
we'll  all  dine  together  to-night  at  home — 
with  Aunt  Jane.  Aren't  you  ashamed, 
Uncle  Jack,  to  have  neglected  her  so?  She 
has  told  me ;  and  to-morrow — oh,  we  shall 
all  have  to  go  somewhere  to-morrow." 

"But  Mr.  Mason  is  returning  East  to 
morrow,  Sibyl ;  shall  you  — ." 

Tompkins  got  no  farther. 

Sibyl  went  to  where  Mason  sat  in  silence 
at  the  end  of  the  desk.  His  face  told  her 
he  had  failed.  In  the  exuberance  of  her 
own  gaiety,  she  had,  till  now,  quite  forgot 
ten  how  serious  to  him  was  his  mission. 

Boldly  she  confronted  the  older  man. 

"Uncle  Jack  Tompkins,  do  you  mean  to 

334 


AN  OFFER  IS  ACCEPTED       ^      * 

tell  me  you  have,  as  we  say  out  here,  (turned 
down'  Hal's  deal?" 

"Sibyl,  hush,"  Mason  started  forward, 
suffering  ten-fold  more  at  her  words. 

"I  have  not  told  you,  dear,"  Tompkins 
answered. 

Mason  put  forth  a  protesting  hand. 

"Hal,  don't  try  to  restrain  me.  I  am  be 
ginning  to  see  light,"  she  cried. 

Tompkins  laughed.  Mason  could  have 
fled,  had  not  Sibyl  barred  the  way. 

"Have  you  told  him  then?"  she  went  on. 

"Sibyl,  circumstances  are  such" — Tomp 
kins  began. 

"Circumstances  fudge!"  she  exclaimed. 
"What  are  circumstances?  Hal  has  told 
me  a  little  of  what  his  father's  plan  is ;  why 
shouldn't  he  have?  I  don't  know  a  thing 
about  business,  and  between  you  and  me, 
335 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     •*     * 

Uncle  Jack,  I  care  less,  but  what  I  do  want 
to  know  is:  Is  there  anything  wrong  with 
the — proposition,  I  suppose  you'd  call  it?" 

"Not  a  thing,  dear;  on  the  contrary,  it's 
one  of  the  best  ideas  I  have  had  my  atten 
tion  called  to  in  a  long,  long  time." 

Sibyl  clapped  her  hands. 

"Good!"  she  cried.  "Why,  then,  aren't 
you  going  into  it?" 

A  smile  as  tender  as  a  woman's  came  into 
Tompkins'  blue  eyes  as  he  gazed  into  the 
youthful  defiant  face  before  him. 

"My  dear,"  he  began,  "there  are  things 
you  would  not  understand,  but  that  Mr. 
Mason,  here,  does.  Isn't  that  so,  Mason?" 

"Quite,"  Hal  assured  him.     In  the  face 
of  his  ignominious  defeat  he  rallied  to  the 
rescue  of  this  man  from  the  danger  of  a 
pretty  girl's  blazing  eyes. 
336 


AN  OFFER  IS  ACCEPTED       ^      •* 

"Hal  Mason,  you  should  be  ashamed!" 
Yet  with  the  condemning  words  there  came 
a  whimsical  smile  into  Sibyl's  face. 

She  passed  to  the  other  side  of  the  desk 
composedly. 

"Now,  Uncle  Jack  Tompkins — and  may 
be  after  to-day  I'll  never  call  you  that  again 
as  long  as  I  live,  it  depends  wholly  upon 
yourself — I  want  you  to  listen  to  me,"  she 
began. 

His  laughing  eyes  rested  fondly  upon 
her. 

"I'm  going  to  speak  plainly — very,  very 
plainly,  and  I'm  going  to  be  personal — aw 
fully  personal,  but  you  must  listen :  Uncle 
Jack,  you  are  heels  over  head  in  love  with 
Aunt  Jane,  now  aren't  you?" 

What  would  Hal  Mason  not  have  given 
if  at  that  instant  the  floor  had  opened  magic- 

337 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     * 

ally  and  swallowed  him?  But  Colonel 
Tompkins  appeared  not  in  the  least  em 
barrassed. 

He  nodded  affirmatively. 

"More  than  that,  Sib,"  he  answered. 

"Of  course  you  are!"  she  cried  gaily. 
"Did  you  think  I  didn't  know?  Now 
here's  something  you  don't  know — positive 
ly.  Aunt  Jane  is  heel — I  mean  just  as  much 
in  love  with  you  as  you  are  with  her." 

Mason  could  have  cried  out,  so  intense 
was  the  embarrassment  he  was  suffering. 

Tompkins  leaned  forward  eagerly. 

"Really,  Sib,  really?"  he  begged. 

She  nodded  with  tight-shut  lips. 

"And  here's  something  else,"  she  went  on 
rapidly.  "Aunt  Jane  will  never  marry  you 
so  long  as  I  am  unmarried — you  knew  that, 
didn't  you?  Well,  you  know  it  now.  Even 

338 


"You  ARE  HEELS  OVER  HEAD  IN  LOVE  WITH  AUNT  JANE' 


AN  OFFER  IS  ACCEPTED       *      * 

if  she  /j  in  love  with  you,  she  thinks  her  first 
duty  is  to  me.  I  haven't  told  her  yet  that  I 
am  engaged  to  Hal.  I  meant  to  tell  both 
of  you  to-night,  just  to  see  your  faces ;  and 
oh,  I'm  so  glad  I  waited!" 

She  met  the  look  of  puzzlement  in 
Tompkins'  face  with  a  smile. 

"Don't  you  see?"  she  asked.  "When  I 
am  married  to  Hal,  Aunt  Jane  will  marry 
you  so  quickly  it  will  make  your  head  swim ; 
whereas  if  I  don't  marry  Hal,  she'll  never 
marry  you,  never,  never — for  if  I  don't 
marry  Hal,  I'll  never  marry  any  one.  Oh, 
dear,  don't  you  see  now?  Must  I  say  it  all? 
Well  then,  if  you  refuse  to  go  into  this  deal, 
for  my  sake,  for  Hal's  sake,  Til  not  marry 
him.  If  you  do  go  in,  I'll  marry  him  to 
morrow,  and  you  and  Aunt  Jane  can  have 
the  knot  tied  just  as  quickly  as  you  desire  1" 

339 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *     •* 

Mason  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Sibyl!"  he  cried.  "Stop."  He  turned  to 
Tompkins.  "I  beg  of  you,  sir,  do  not  — ." 

"Just  a  moment,"  Tompkins  said. 
"Sibyl,"  he  went  on,  "you've  got  me.  I 
know  as  well  as  I  know  I  am  here  in  my 
own  office  this  minute,  that  you  would  not 
give  up  this  young  man  for  all  the  traction 
deals  on  earth.  You've  put  up  the  biggest 
bluff,  dear,  that  was  ever  flashed  in  San 
Francisco,  but  I  daren't  call  it!  Take  the 
pot  !  You  win!" 

"Colonel  Tompkins,  I  — ." 

"Never  mind,  Mr.  Mason,"  the  older 
man  interrupted,  "you  seem  to  be  quite  out 
of  it.  This  appears  to  be  Sibyl's  deal  entire 
ly,  and  I  suppose  when  the  thing  is  put 
through,  she  should  have  a  pass  over  the  en 
tire  system,  shouldn't  she?" 

340 


AN  OFFER  IS  ACCEPTED       ^       ^ 

"You  mean  — ,"  Mason  began  slowly. 

"I  mean  that  I  am  with  you — your 
father." 

"But  Pacific  City?" 

"Pacific  City,  Hal — I  suppose  I'd  best 
begin  calling  you  that  now — Pacific  City, 
Hal,  must  'wait!' 

Mason's  heart  leaped  into  his  throat. 

"And  I  may  send  a  wire  that  — ." 

"Just  a  moment." 

Tompkins  drew  toward  him  a  pad  of  tele 
gram  blanks.  He  wrote  swiftly. 

"How  will  this  do?"  he  asked,  and  read: 

"John  Mason,  Tremont  Street, 

'Boston,  Mass. 

"Your  son  has  won  the  finest  girl  on  the 
Coast,  and  she  has  won  me.  I  am  with  you. 

"Tompkins." 

Sibyl  glided  up  to  him  with  a  smile. 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     *>     ^ 

"Uncle  Jack,"  she  said,  "if  you  really 
won't  mind — I'm  going  to  kiss  you."  And 
she  did,  where  his  hair  was  gray  over  one 
ear.  Then  looking  down  into  his  eyes,  her 
hands  on  his  shoulders,  she  asked:  "And 
it  is  a  good  proposition,  isn't  it?" 

His  smile  was  answer  enough.  He 
pressed  a  button  on  his  desk.  The  boy 
entered.  He  gave  him  the  message,  saying, 
"Have  that  sent  at  once." 

And  so  it  was  that  a  little  party  of  three 
sat  down  to  a  memorable  luncheon  together 
half  an  hour  later  in  the  Techau  restaurant. 


342 


The  Star  That   Did   Not   Fall 


XXII.  THE  STAR  THAT  DID  NOT  FALL 

HROM  the  wide  hallway  came  the 
sound  of  skirts,  rustling.  Then,  for 
an  instant,  the  doorway  framed  the  figure  of 
a  woman;  her  blue-grey  hair  seemed  to 
catch  the  light  and  hold  it,  her  figure  still 
possessed  the  lines  of  what  once  must  have 
been  a  beautiful  girlhood,  and  her  face, 
even  now,  was  youthful. 

"So  you  are  Sibyl's  Hal?"  she  said,  and 
smiled. 

Mason  bowed. 

"She  told  me,"  she  went  on.  "And  I  am 
glad — for  both  your  sakes." 

She  came  forward  then,  holding  out  both 
her  hands,  which  he  took  in  his,  perceiving 
as  he  did  so,  how  small  they  were,  and  how 
smooth. 

345 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     ^ 

Looking  up  into  his  face  she  said:  "We 
of  the  West  have  learned  to  judge  quickly, 
and  our  first  impressions  are  rarely  wrong. 
I  welcome  you  here — for  myself — and  for 
Sibyl.  I  have  always  looked  upon  her  as 
my  daughter,  and  henceforth  I  shall  con 
sider  you  as  my  boy." 

She  had  spoken  with  such  tenderness  that 
a  little  mist  came  into  his  eyes,  and,  inclin 
ing  his  face,  he  kissed  her  on  the  forehead. 

When  Sibyl  joined  them  they  were  seated 
side  by  side  at  the  balcony  window. 

Aunt  Jane  held  out  her  hand  to  the  girl. 

"You  have  made  me  young  again,"  she 
said. 

Then  she  turned  to  Hal. 

"Sibyl  has  told  me  the  whole  story,"  she 
went  on.  "She  has  confessed  everything. 
You  should  scold  her,  Hal,  for  she  called  it 
346 


THE  STAR  THAT  DID  NOT  FALL  •* 

'funny' — your  meeting  in  the  train  and  the 
— the  transcontinental  courtship  that  fol 
lowed.  It  is  not  funny,  children" — in  each 
of  her  hands  she  held  one  of  theirs — "it's  the 
old,  old  story  of  the  East  winning  the  West 
again.  It's  nature." 

A  bell  sounded.  A  flush,  as  delicate  as 
the  rose-tint  in  a  young  girl's  cheek,  came 
into  Aunt  Jane's.  She  rose  and  glided  to 
ward  the  drawing-room  door. 

"Come,"  Sibyl  whispered,  and  led  the 
way  through  the  hall  window  out  upon  the 
balcony.  "It  is  Uncle  Jack.  We  must  let 
them  have  their  romance,  now  that  we  have 
ours." 

From  a  pocket  he  drew  forth  a  folded 
sheet  and  gave  it  to  her. 

"Father's  message,"  he  said. 

She  moved  away,  into  the  light  that  shone 
347 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  DEAL     ^     * 

through  the  window  from  within  and 
opened  the  fold  of  yellow  paper.  The  mes 
sage  was  brief;  she  read  it  at  a  glance — 

"Blessings,  bring  home  your  bride. 

"Father." 

Her  hands  fell  and  she  raised  her  misty 
eyes  to  his. 

"Hal,"  she  whispered,  "what  a  wonder 
ful  world  it  is!" 

He  drew  her  to  him;  her  cheek  was 
against  his  shoulder. 

In  the  velvet  sky  were  a  multitude  of 
stars.  From  below  the  perfume  of  the  roses 
was  borne  up  to  them  on  the  wings  of  the 
night. 

"Sweetheart,"— he  spoke  softly— "would 
you  have  sent  me  away  as  you  threatened,  if 
Uncle  Jack  had  not  promised?" 

A  moment  she  hesitated.    Then : — 
348 


"Do  You  SEE  THAT  STAR,  DEAR  HEART?" 


THE  STAR  THAT  DID  NOT  FALL  •* 

"Do  you  see  that  star,  dear  heart?"  she 
asked— "the  brightest  of  them  all?  That 
star  could  come  tumbling  down  here,  lover, 
but  you  and  I  know  it  never  willl" 


349 


YB  32877 


